Playing With Fire
by Shannon Vega
Summary: Malavai Quinn and F! Imperial Agent share a mission and more while rooting out a threat to Imperial Intelligence. Will contain smut and cameos by many. *Major Spoilers for Chapter 3 Sith Warrior, Bounty Hunter, and Imperial Agent storylines. Takes place between end of Chapter 3 and start of Makeb (Rise of the Hutt Cartel).* Malavai Quinn/F! Imperial Agent. THANK YOU!
1. Interlude

Special Thanks to Eri'anya for catching the fact that I had misspelled Quinn's name. Virtual cookies for you and much hugging!

Summary: Malavai Quinn and F! Imperial Agent share a mission and more while rooting out a threat to Imperial Intelligence.

Author's Note and Disclaimer: Will contain smut and cameos by many. *Major Spoilers for Chapter 3 Sith Warrior and Imperial Agent storylines. Takes place between end of Chapter 3 and start of Makeb (Rise of the Hutt Cartel).* My husband's Sith Warrior is borrowed with my husband's permission and blessing. I own nothing. BioWare and others own the sandbox-I'm just playing in it. I make no money off the writing of this story nor any other. Thank you for reading.

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**Chapter One: Interlude**

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Darth Lok'nar glanced at the datapad, red-tinged eyes narrowing. The purebred Sith spared a glance towards the ramrod form of Captain Malavai Quinn and nodded. Though they were not at the same level of comradeship as before Quinn attempted to execute the Darth with droids, they had reached a certain level of détente.

"My Lord?" asked Quinn.

Lok'nar frowned and tapped the datapad, tossing it to the Imperial. "The universe can wait a bit, I suppose. And the crew needs a vacation," mused the Sith, stroking the protuberances around his mouth. "Yes, I give my blessing for you to take a leave to work for Imperial Intelligence."

Quinn let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding and nodded, glancing down at the datapad. "I'll book immediate passage as per my orders," he acknowledged, stowing the datapad.

"And, Malavai?" called the Sith from over his shoulder as he strode from the bridge.

Malavai looked up at the Darth. "Yes, my Lord?"

Lok'nar's eyes narrowed as he offered a feral grin towards the medic. "Remember, it is to me that your loyalty lies. First and foremost."

Quinn blanched and nodded, watching his liege lord leave to find his apprentice. Taking a steadying breath, he began to tap the datapad, organizing his travel. It would be good to get out into the wider galaxy again, he thought as he headed towards his quarters. Without a further word to the rest of the crew, the Imperial stepped from the ship and faded into the crowds aboard the fleet ship.

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	2. Privacy

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Eri'anya for catching the fact that I had misspelled Quinn's name. Virtual cookies for you and much hugging!

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and offer gratitude to those who do own Star Wars the Old Republic for letting me play in the sandbox. Thank you so much to everyone who's reading and to those who are following and favoriting. You inspire me to continue this. Now, on with the show.

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Chapter Two: Privacy

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"Agent, incoming message, highest priority," barked the ship's computer, startling the young Ensign Temple at her duty station.

Caerridwen, once known by the designation of Cipher Nine and now a veritable databank ghost, nodded towards her protégé and stood from the pilot's chair on the bridge. "Very well, Temple. I'll take it in my quarters," she advised with a chuckle, striding towards the privacy of her room. Moments later, door locked and privacy (as much as was possible on a ship full of spies) achieved, she faced the holoterminal. "Cipher Nine, accepting incoming message," she ordered the device, watching as a form flickered in silver and blue light over the dias. "Good morning, sir," she offered with a small smile.

"Good morning, Agent," came the reply from the almost ghostly form of the former Minister of Intelligence. The man hadn't changed—he was still a silvery lion though he'd abandoned his uniform for a well-cut civilian suit of clothing. Clearly, the Dark Council had let him retire rather than hang him. "How are you enjoying being a ghost?"

Caer shrugged lightly and leaned against the table in her quarters. "Quite well, sir. How can I be of assistance?" Technically the man no longer had any sway over her—for that matter, since Intelligence was never to be reinstated in its original form, no one did. And with the Black Codex in her possession, no one would. It was liberating.

The ex-Minister chuckled dryly. "There's a situation that has arisen. While your actions helped to destroy the Star Cabal, threats to the galaxy never stop."

Caer nodded. "I was afraid of that. What assistance can I provide?"

The holoform wavered for a moment before the ex-Minister continued. "There are only rumors at this moment of a possible threat in the Hutt system. One name has risen to the top of the Keeper's purview—an intelligence broker named Hiram Si'na. He's a retired Fixer from before your time." The holoform consulted a datapad before looking up to meet her gaze. "He has a hand in most things information in the Hutt system. We've arranged for you to have a partner on this."

Caer's brow rose at that. In her storied career, her most consistent partner had been Kaliyo. "Am I to take it that this is an undercover assignment?"

The ex-Minister chuckled again. "Quite. You always were quick, Agent. Your partner was seconded from Intelligence into the service of Darth Baras and, with the Darth's death, he's now in the service of a Darth Lok'nar. He was an instructor at the Academy, though. You might have crossed paths—does the name Malavai Quinn sound familiar?"

Caer's eyes widened as a zing of electricity raced through her body. Familiar? Calming her breathing and controlling her body's responses, she offered a placid smile. "I'm sure I recall taking a few lessons from him. Rather by the book, if I recall," she added.

The ex-Minister nodded. "Quite." His expression, usually stern, hardened further. "Agent, his allegiance is to his Darth. Always remember this." The pale gray eyes that she had learned to trust then softened. "But he does have history with Hiram Si'na. And for the purposes of this mission, he's the best alternative among many bad ones. You will be tasked to determine if there is any veracity to the rumors circulating. Things appear to be coming to a head—shadow involvement in both Empire and Republic business not related to the Star Cabal has long been monitored."

Caer nodded. "I trust that cover identities have been created?" Even though Intelligence was, technically, no more, the apparatus that the ex-Minister had strung together still worked as a shadow network. "And will Keeper be my contact?"

The ex-Minister nodded. "Quite. For Quinn's part, he'll maintain his own identity as cover—it will give him a freedom of movement and access. You will be his besotted partner in crime, as it were. Details have been sent to your encrypted datapad," he added.

Caer picked up the datapad from her desk and nodded. "Any further instructions?"

The ex-Minister's lips quirked. "In our business it does no good to abide by faith and trust. But I will wish you luck, Agent. Were I twenty years younger I believe that I could give you a run."

The holo faded out before Caer managed to close her gaping mouth. "Now THAT was unexpected."

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	3. Enter The Red Blade

Author's Note: Again, I want to send a very special thank you to Eri'anya for catching the fact that I had misspelled Quinn's name. That oversight has been corrected. Moreover, if anyone has any complaints or suggestions, please don't hesitate.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profit other than sheer emotional and psychological goody bags. Those I would gladly share with the developers and creators of SWTOR. Now, on with the show.

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Chapter Three: Enter the Red Blade

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"Agent, is this a good idea?"

Caer glanced up from the duffel that she had been packing. When preparing for an extended mission of unknown danger, was it better to pack more lingerie or weapons? She shrugged and started wrapping the grenades that had been a life day gift with the lingerie that had also been a life day gift. Kill two banthas with one stone, as the saying goes. "Kaliyo, I'd almost think that you were worried." She shot her partner a teasing smile.

Kaliyo, leaning against the open doorframe of the Cipher's bedchamber, offered a bare lift of her shoulder. The Rattataki was a survivor, to be sure, and her sojourn with the Cipher agent had never been dull. "Nah. Just wondering when I should start cannibalizing the ship."

Caer giggled. "Now we both know that you'd just become captain in your own right and turn the rest of the crew to piracy. Can't let the stealth upgrades that Fixer Thirteen installed go to waste."

Kaliyo nodded. "Right. Look, I get that you have to go all spook sometimes, but why can't one of us watch your back? We don't even know this Quinn. And our track record with Darths ain't exactly stellar."

Caer pulled the zip of the bag shut and sat down on the edge of the bed, green eyes watching Kaliyo. "There's something on your mind. Other than my impending mission. Out with it."

Kaliyo shook her head. "Just got a bad feeling about this." The Rattataki's lips pursed as she scanned the interior of Caer's room.

Caer nodded. "When do you not get a bad feeling about something?" She hefted the bag onto her shoulder and started towards the shuttle bay. "I'll find a way to get in touch with you if we need an extraction," she promised, checking that her weapons were successfully stowed and hidden.

Kaliyo nodded. The rest of the crew had busied themselves with getting the ship ready for departure from Hutta, the agreed drop-off point for Caer to meet her new partner. Dropping a gauntleted hand onto the human's shoulder she met her gaze. "I don't want to have go breaking in another partner. Don't get dead."

Caer nodded. It was as sentimental as Kaliyo got. Offering her partner a grin, the Cipher agent stepped out the airlock and onto the Hutta space station. As the door shut behind her, she heaved a sigh.

Full circle, she supposed, as she once again slipped into the persona of the Red Blade.

Independent pirate queen.

Oh, the fun.

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	4. A Match Made in Hutta

Author's Note: Thank you guys for the feedback! A fair point, Raxus Prime, that my chapters have tended to be a bit shorter than normal. I'll try to make up for that with some eminently longer chappies—starting with this one. And, again, a big thank you to clicketykeys and Eri'anya—I really appreciate helping to make this story fun for everyone. And to those following the story (*does the happy Snoopy dance of glee*), I will try not to disappoint. Now, just to give anyone who has not played an Imperial agent a little background, your first assignment is on Hutta posing as the Red Blade, a notorious independent pirate. And, if you get a chance, go play one. It's fun.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profit—though my mood is definitely the better for writing again. And getting feedback in the form of reviews, follows, and favorites is the absolute best!

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**Chapter Four: A Match Made in Hutta**

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Quinn stepped off the shuttle, shading his eyes with his hand against the fierce Hutta sun. Immediately his overcoat soaked up the humidity, dragging heavily from his shoulders. When he'd received the holomessage requesting his temporary reactivation into service for Imperial Intelligence, he'd been surprised. Especially since, for all intents and purposes, Imperial Intelligence had been decapitated by the Sith. He had, though, been hearing scuttlebutt from his old contacts from his shadowy intelligence days of a resurrection of sorts of the intelligence apparatus but nothing concrete.

To be fair, the art of being a spy meant little was "concrete." The only certainty that any intelligence operative, fixer, or watcher ever had was that, someday, they would know too much or piss off the wrong person and become collateral damage. Quinn had experienced being left out in the cold after his dealings with the Moff.

It was a risk that all members of Intelligence accepted.

Shaking thoughts of the past from his mind, he turned his sharp blue eyes to scanning the inhabitants of the spaceport, wondering if the woman calling herself the Red Blade would be there to greet him. He'd received an encrypted data stream packet with her identifying information so he knew what she looked like and what she would be calling herself. Odd, but he thought he had recognized her from her holo. Long before he'd been relegated to Balmorra or joined the crew of the Emperor's Wrath, he'd served in Imperial Intelligence. In between missions, he'd found himself assigned to the Academy to help with training. Not that he'd minded. There was something refreshing about being surrounded by so many true believers in the Empire.

But that had been ages ago, he rationalized. Too much time and blood had passed since those long-forgotten days to dwell on them. Hefting his satchel on his shoulder, he strode through the spaceport, ignoring the curious eyes that followed him.

It was easy to navigate the town. It was even easier to avoid the warring street gangs that swarmed the streets and alleyways. Signposts for the cantina guided him up a dusty rampway and into the marginally cooler rooms beyond. Inside were the seedy and desperate people that one would expect on Hutta—if the contents of their character were a reflection of their visages, then mass extermination might be a blessing. His attention skated over the faces, noting with detachment that his contact was not in the main room of the cantina. After a quick word with the innkeeper, he learned from the scantily clad woman that the Blade had taken rooms at the back of the cantina. Tossing the toothless woman a few credits, he headed through the winding hallways towards the back rooms.

Tapping on the doorframe, he waited. He thought he could hear rustling in the room beyond and shifted marginally, his gloved hand palming his vibroblade.

The door cracked open a space and the scent of Alderaanian jasmine wafted into the hallway. Oddly it reminded him of the ship droid onboard the Fury that constantly was cleaning the ship in a bid to avoid deactivation. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold in the chuckle.

"I am thirsty and need a drink," offered a soft, sultry voice that hinted at dark things.

Quinn paused, considering the voice. "Then I shall give you a cup from the fountain of wisdom."

The door swung open further and he was roughly pulled inside the dimly lit room before the door once again shut. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Once they had, he was moderately surprised by what greeted him. The chamber was larger than most in the inn, having more than one room attached to the one he now stood in. Low couches and chairs dominated the room, all arranged on thick, colorful rugs over the packed earth floor.

Through a doorway he could just make out a rather large bed festooned with netting—most likely to keep the local insect population from feasting on sleeping patrons.

Finally, he turned his gaze on his partner for the duration, his expression professionally blank. "Malavai Quinn, at your service," he offered with a slight bow at the waist.

The woman chuckled and offered a nod in response. "Nice to meet you, Malavoi Quinn. I would say to call me Cipher, but that was before the most recent unpleasantness. So, you may either call me Blade or Caer. I'll let you pick your preference." The last was offered with a shrug.

Quinn nodded, setting his bag on the floor. "Then I shall call you Caer, if the that is to your liking. A pleasure to meet you, Caer."

Caer offered a small smile and reached down, snagging his bag from the floor before lifting it, eyes widening at the weight within. "Carrying a body we need to dispose of before we get started?" she asked, carrying the bag into the bedchamber and dropping it on the bed. The bed creaked loudly under the bag's weight.

Quinn shook his head and chuckled. "Not quite. Better to be prepared." He stepped into the bedchamber and crossed to the bed, his fingers nimbly pulling the zip of the bag. He motioned for her to look within, watching with appreciation as her green eyes widened a bit. "I assume that since we're speaking so freely that this room is clean?"

Caer nodded, plopping down on the bed and sitting cross-legged atop the comforter. All of a sudden she looked much younger than he imagined her to be. He got the feeling that the agent before him could transform herself into whatever would be needed for an operation—whether that be a timid schoolgirl or a vixenish heathen. "First thing I did. This room is clean and I'll scan it each time we return. We must assume that we are always being watched, however," she reminded.

Quinn nodded absently as he stowed his belongings. Seating himself beside the woman, he allowed himself a breath. "I quite remember operational procedures, thank you." There was no venom in his voice—merely a tiredness that had been creeping up on him since he left Darth Lok'nar's ship.

Caer eyed him critically. "You look half-dead. And while our cover is that I'm sucking the very marrow of your bones from you with our evening calesthenics," she noted that his cheeks pinked a touch at her word but barreled on, undeterred, "I don't relish having to drag you around Hutta." Standing, she brushed off her pants and pointed to the bed. "Get some rest. I'm going to check in with Keeper and see what has been uncovered so far."

Quinn nodded warily. "Don't allow me to sleep the whole day away, Caer. We have to find Hiram and our way into this mess."

Caer watched as he drifted off to sleep before stepping back to the main room and the holocommunicator. Keying the device on, she waited.

"Good morning, Cipher. I hope that Hutta is finding you agreeable." Keeper had a bit more silver at her temples but her hairstyle was as severe as ever and her expression closed as always. Though, through her time dealing with the Cipher agent, she'd come to allow a bit more humor and humanity to infect their conversations.

Caer shook her head ruefully. "Whether Hutta finds me agreeable depends entirely on how quickly I can get off this infested cesspool of a planet. Any word on Si'na?"

Keeper nodded. "Indeed. Hiram Si'na was spotted boarding a shuttle on Drommund Kaas bound for Hutta and should be arriving on planet within a few hours. According to our records, he has a mistress named Juda, a Twi'lek accountant for the crimelord Nem'ro, whom he visits quite frequently. You'll use your identity as the Red Blade to gain lodging in his palace, Cipher."

Caer nodded, sparing a glance behind her at the man tossing fitfully in the wide bed. "Understood, Keeper. Any further instructions?"

Keeper shook her head, dark eyes too old and wise in her face. "No, Cipher. Just be careful."

A rueful chuckle escaped Caer's lips. "Aren't I always? Cipher out."

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	5. Hello Sailor

Author's Note: You guys rock! Eri'anya, I dedicate this chapter to you for guessing a bit of Quinn and Caer's history and for inspiring me to crystalize it and explain it further. For those of you still reading (and may I just say how epically awesome that is!) this story, I promise it'll be clear as crystal. Though as this story continues, other things will get murky. I want to just insert a bit of a warning here. Smut is coming. There will be smut and the mentioning of smut. I couldn't resist. I tried. I really, really tried. Okay, not really.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profit and meaning no disrespect.

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**Chapter Five: Hello Sailor**

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Caer waited until Quinn was solidly asleep before approaching the bed again. She took care not to make any quick movements or loud noises as she pulled off his boots and set them on the floor. Straightening, she surveyed the older man with a critical eye. Even in sleep he winced and could not find a comfortable position.

Crouching, she watched him for a long moment. "What happened to you, Malavai?" She brushed back a stray lock of black hair that had fallen across his forehead, his face losing years in sleep. Well, she decided, straightening, there was only one way to find out. Stalking back to her bag, she pulled out her medkit, glad that she'd listened to Lokin when he'd told her to go heavy with her kit. She grabbed a hypospray preloaded with a standard antibiotic and sedative that she'd been introduced to on Balmorra and stalked back to the bedroom. She'd noted how he was careful of his ribs and the mottled skin denoting a beating. And if they were going to be partners and work together, she needed him in top form.

She ignored the niggling voice in the back of her mind that, oddly, sounded a great deal like Kaliyo, advising her that she also was going to get a sick thrill out of stripping her Academy-era crush while he slept. Instead, she turned her attention to Quinn, trying to think of him as just another patient.

Though the cackling in her mind as she played nurse was a bit unnerving.

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Caer settled onto the couch, feet resting on one of the arms and her arm thrown across her eyes. Playing nurse had taken longer than she'd expected. From Quinn's file, she knew that he was a very talented medic. Given that, she had been shocked by the damage that had been inflicted and left unhealed on his body. Had she thought to bring a Kolto tank, she would have shoved the recalcitrant Captain into it and let him heal thoroughly. Instead, she'd used most of her Kolto packs and wraps, wrapping his ribs, his arm, setting his shoulder and mending his hand. Thankfully, he'd been asleep throughout it all.

She'd already keyed a message to Kaliyo to have additional medical supplies sent down at the mercenary's earliest convenience and received a tersely worded message asking if backup was needed. After reassuring the Rattataki, she'd finally left Quinn to heal. Sleep seemed to be what the man needed most, if she was honest. And since he was no longer wincing with each movement, he was likely to get quite a bit more sleep.

She drifted off to sleep, content that she had done her good deed for the decade.

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Quinn blinked, surprised that the bedchamber had dimmed with the passage of time. He rolled over, holding his breath against the pain that had been following any movement for weeks. His eyes widened and he came full awake as no pain coursed through his body. He sat up, sparks racing across his vision at the sudden change in elevation and he realized that he'd been less than thorough about his nutrition of late. Taking it a little slower, he eased his pant-clad legs over the edge of the bed and looked around.

The last thing he remembered was that he'd been talking with Caer and she'd ordered him to bed. He shook his head ruefully. Trust that he'd be ordered to bed by a pretty lady only to get rest, he thought with a chuckle. Truthfully, it had been when she'd ordered him to bed that he'd finally remembered her. She'd been one of his students—and a true temptation at that. She'd been eager and bright and clearly infatuated with him. The fact that she had barely reached eighteen years by the time she'd met him had played a large part in the reason behind his transferring her to another instructor.

Though the woman who was in the other room bore little resemblance to the innocent young girl who'd entered the Academy, he decided as he stood. There were things that neither of them would ever tell a soul—things that happened during operations that changed them. That was what civilians didn't understand and had even less patience for. He knew this from experience. His ex-wife had left him after he'd been assigned to Balmorra and married an Imperial naval officer. Last he heard, she was happy. Well, happier than she'd been with him. Then again, she had never been exactly faithful or happy with him.

Deciding that he'd been thinking far too much, he scrubbed his hands over his face, the stubble on his jaw and chin prickling his palms. He should shave, he thought, then decided against it. After all, he was on Hutta not Drommund Kaas. A mirror hung on one wall and he stepped in front of it, taking in his appearance. It appeared that Caer had been busy. His ribs and shoulder were wrapped with Kolto dressings and he could feel the dried Kolto gel on his hands and back as well as his abdomen. Even though he stank like a field medic station, he felt better than he had in months.

He also noticed that the clothes he currently wore were not the ones he'd fallen onto the bed in. His shirt was gone, as was his coat and pants. Covering his legs and hanging low on his hips was his pair of pajama pants, a pale blue striped loose pant that had once been part of a set. Clearly Caer had rifled through his belongings after mending him. His cheeks pinked slightly at the thought of his fellow agent disrobing him, though a disturbing addendum was that he was slightly put out that he hadn't had the opportunity to return the favor.

Peeling off the bandages and noting that the skin below was now a healthy pink, he set to work finding where Caer had put the rest of his clothes. His gaze went around the bedchamber. His coat was hung near the door and, from what he could see through the ajar cupboard doors, the contents of his bags had been emptied as well. So he wasn't without his gear or clothing, apparently. Grabbing a pair of pants and a jumper, he went into the refresher, stripping out of the pajamas and stepping beneath a near scalding spray of water.

Long minutes later he appeared, dressed in his trousers and hair swept wetly back from his forehead. He tugged on the sweater and padded shoeless into the common area of the adjoining rooms. Caer was fast asleep on the couch, her body curled in on itself in reaction to the chilling of the night air. Dragging a blanket across her sleeping form, he went in search of food. Fortunately, he did not have to go far. On one of the low tables he found plates of fruit and cheese as well as bread. As his stomach growled lowly, he set to devouring his plateful of food. Finally full, he set down his plate and settled back on one of the couches to ponder.

This was how Caer woke to find her partner. "Good evening, Malavai. Did you rest well?"

Quinn offered a rakish grin, made all the moreso by his more pronounced stubble on his jaw. "Quite. Thank you for your tender mercies. I admit that my injuries pained me enough that it might have inhibited the mission." The last was admitted in a quiet tone.

Caer shook her head, sitting up on the couch and running a hand through her hair, wincing at the knots in her auburn hair. "Forget the mission. Well, don't forget the mission. But if you were to drop dead in this room, we would both have a problem." She stood, stretching her arms above her head until her shoulders popped. "I'm going to get freshened up. Then, if you are up to it, we have an audience with Nem'ro in the morning."

Quinn arched a brow and settled himself more comfortably. "Take your time. I'm just going to do some work." He had his datapad in hand and started tapping the screen to illustrate the point.

Caer nodded and padded into the bedchamber, shutting the door behind her.

The holocommunicator beeped as Quinn heard the refresher start, the sound of the pounding spray a momentary distraction. For a moment he thought about going to get Caer so she could answer the communicator then shrugged. Leaning forward, he tapped the communicator and was greeted by a curvy Rattataki in heavy armor.

"Well, hello sailor," purred Kaliyo, lavender eyes sweeping predatorially over Quinn. "Where's my agent?"

"Refresher," he answered, settling back deeper into the seat cushions. "And you would be?"

"Ah, see now I'm hurt. I would have thought that Caer would have talked about me. I'm Kaliyo. And you must be Quinn. Your intelligence workup does not do you justice." The mercenary leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "No wonder you've got my agent so worked up."

Quinn cocked his head to one side, smiling enigmatically. This was…enlightening. While he might be punished for it later, he decided to do a little more delving. "So, you work closely with Caer?"

Kaliyo batted her eyes. "Very closely." She purred. "Why, you want to play with both of us? I'm sure we could arrange that. Or at least you can help me persuade my Agent."

Quinn chuckled. "Was this the only reason that you called—to proposition me?"

Kaliyo pouted. "Ah, Quinn, you make it sound like that's such a bad thing. But, alas, you're right. Tell my Agent that I've sent down the supplies that she asked for. Oh, and Quinn?"

Quinn grated his teeth at the nickname. "Yes, Mistress Kaliyo?"

"You hurt my Agent, I break you. Into very small, bloody, difficult to put together pieces. And I'll enjoy it."

Quinn nodded mutely at the positively feral grin that Kaliyo offered. "I'll keep that in mind."

"But, hey, don't let that stop you from exploring that human biological imperative that y'all talk about so much. After all, fate has drawn you back together after all this time and blah-de-blah. Blech. How romantic. Excuse me while I wash out this taste in my mouth with something. Bye."

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	6. What Lurks Beneath

Author's Note: First off, thank you! I'm utterly thrilled that you guys are still reading and are still entertained. And I want to thank you all for your feedback—so enjoying the fact that you guys are giving me great suggestions. I get a huge rush when I see a favoriting or review or following for this story that lasts the whole day and is really pushing me to write more. Now—confession time (and, no it's not terrible—just an explanation for the delay on updating): I actually had to roll another agent character just so I could run through the whole Hutta mission since it's been quite a while since I was level 10 on my agent. Hence, the reason for the late updating. And thank you so much for your patience. As to your comment, Eri'anya, about having to wait 200 chapters if I stayed to the pace of the Sith Warrior—I don't think that I can in all fairness inflict that much waiting on any of you. So, I guarantee that it will be less than 200 chapters before Mal and Caer "get it on." And now I have Marvin Gaye running through my head.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profit and meaning no disrespect.

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**Chapter Six: What Lurks Beneath**

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Quinn sipped his tea, contemplating his conversation with the mercenary Kaliyo. The sound of the refresher shutting off stirred him from his thoughts. Moments later a clean and somewhat damp ex-Cipher agent dropped onto the couch beside him, legs tucked under her as she curled against the arm of the couch, visibly more relaxed.

Quinn handed her the second cup of tea that he had made and left sitting on the low table to cool. "Interesting colleagues you have," he offered mildly.

Caer's eyes narrowed briefly as her gaze cut to the holocommunicator. "To which one are you referring? I have a few colleagues," she admitted.

"I believe she said her name was Kaliyo. Tall—pretty in a violent sort of way—said to tell you that she sent the supplies you requested."

Caer nodded, her expression relaxing as she drank her tea. "Ah," she allowed, letting her head fall back as she let the warmth of the tea coat her throat. Thinking about it, the scene playing out currently was almost domestic. "So, are you going to tell me why your Darth beat you nearly to death?"

Quinn coughed as the gulp of tea that he'd taken went down the wrong way. Finally catching his breath, he turned sharp blue eyes on her. "I don't know what you mean."

Caer lifted her head, meeting his gaze with her own green-eyed one. "You work for a Darth. You had force burns and contusions over most of your body. Your wounds were treated minimally if at all so I must draw the conclusion that you were rendering yourself aid. That is somewhat understandable as you are the primary medical personnel on his ship, according to our records."

Quinn stiffened, staring down into his teacup, fury rising in his blood. "Are you done?" he ground out.

Caer shook her head, twisting her now barely-damp hair into a chignon. "Not quite. If you had been 'damaged' by a third party, your Darth would most certainly have sought medical care for you. Instead, you arrived on Hutta half-dead with monumental cellular damage as well as clear malnutrition and dehydration. So, either your Darth is a monumentally stupid man or he's trying to kill you." Her head cocked to one side as she read his expression, surprise flitting through her jade eyes. "While my opinion of most Sith is abysmal, one does not make the rank of Emperor's Wrath by being a moron. So, how long has he been trying to kill you?"

Quinn set his teacup on the table and stood, striding away from Caer. His hands fisted hard enough to bleach his knuckles ivory. "Is this what you do, Caer?" He spun on her, stalking back towards her, eyes narrowed and eyes darkened to deepest indigo. "Take people apart? See what's inside them and see what makes them tick?"

Caer watched Quinn quietly, carefully, assessing him. Her voice was soft, small, when she spoke. "Yes. It's what WE do, if you have forgotten." She stood, realizing that he had quite a bit of height over her, especially since she was in her bare feet. "Are you going to answer the question?"

Quinn stood rigid, eyes narrowed. "It's none of your concern."

Her own eyes narrowed as she took a step closer, invading his personal space. "YOU are my concern, Malavai. I need to know if this is going to come back to bite us."

Quinn looked away, taking a breath and getting his bearings. "No wonder you were chosen to be a Cipher, Caer. You're good at getting inside your target. But do not try to get inside me," he warned, stepping back from the woman.

Caer watched as his expression became shuttered and inwardly cursed. "For now," she agreed, stepping back as well. "Get dressed. We're going to the palace tonight."

Quinn's brow rose. No call other than Kaliyo's had come in on the holocommunicator. "When was this arranged?"

Caer shrugged, heading back towards the bedchamber. "Keeper saw to it before we arrived. I have learned not to question her methods." Her gaze swept over Quinn's relatively relaxed attire. "We're dining at the palace as special guests of Nem'ro. Apparently, he has a business proposition for the Red Blade."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Karrels Javis glared across the table at the auburn woman currently occupying his holocommunicator. "Blade, I'd ask how you got this frequency, but I don't think that you'd tell me."

Caer chuckled, shaking her head. "That's what I like about you, Karrels. You cut right to the chase. How's the life of a pirate treating you?"

Karrels glanced over his shoulder at his one remaining son, wincing. The boy, his youngest, would never be the same as he had before that Sith got hold of him. But a mysterious infusion of cash to the "right" doctor, ignominiously called "Doc," of all things, and his son had some of the finest prosthetic replacement body parts available. "Fine. But you didn't call to trade pirate stories." He offered a toothy smile.

Caer shrugged. "You're right. I'm in Jiguuna and got nostalgic. Started to think about old friends."

Javis's dark chocolate eye narrowed. He stroked the silvered handlebar moustache that framed his mouth. "Sweetheart, as beautiful as you are, I'm not sure that we ever were friends."

"Touche," she answered with a snigger. "You're probably right. Kaliyo may be in touch, Karrels. Think of it as paying me back for the information on your son."

Karrels flicked off the link.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Ah, the beautiful and deadly Red Blade," boomed Nem'ro, viscous eyes washing over her in greedy appraisal. "It pleases us that you return."

Caer offered a nod of appreciation to the slug-like alien and took the seat she was directed to by Toth'lazhen, Nem'ro's majordomo and right-hand man. "It pleases me as well, mighty Nem'ro. A little bird told me that Faathra's been driven off Hutta?" She settled on the couch that faced Nem'ro, accepting a drink from one of the scantily clad Twi'lek servants and taking a sip.

Nem'ro chortled, the folds of his body rolling as he slithered around his dais. "It was a great victory indeed. The will of the Cartel has been heard and obeyed and Faathra must accept scraps from my table." His golden eyes moved to the somewhat starched figure sitting next to Caer. "It seems only fitting that since I am in bed with the Imperials, you are as well."

Caer smiled, a light blush touching her cheeks. "Ah, Nem'ro, you know that a girl can't resist true power." She glanced shyly at Malavai even as she snuggled into his side. It amazed Quinn at how easily they fell into the public role of lovers—you couldn't fault their training in spycraft, he decided.

Nem'ro laughed, head thrown back and gelatinous body rolling. "Ah, I understand completely, little Blade. Now, your arrival has presented me an opportunity. Would you like to do business once again?"

Caer glanced at Malavai, seeming to debate this. "I don't know, Nem'ro. I so rarely get to see Malavai—perhaps I shouldn't," her teeth gnawed on her bottom lip as she gave all the impression of a woman warring between her bottom line and her bedroom.

Quinn laughed lightly, patting her hand where it lay on his thigh. "Nonsense, darling. I know you are a woman of enterprise. I won't stand in the way of you doing business with our host."

Caer nodded, green eyes twinkling as she turned back to Nem'ro. "Then by all means, mighty Nem'ro. Let's do business."

Nem'ro nodded to Toth'lazen, the blue-skinned Twi'lek starting forward. Just as she remembered him he had deep blackened circles around his eyes and the same pitch tattoos tracing along his lekku. "I will have Toth'lazen go over the details with you. But, now, dear little pirate, we eat."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Dinner with a Hutt was not a dull affair. After the slime-covered Nem'ro had gorged his fill on eels, the holoprojector in his throne room had allowed them to watch his new rancor eat several uncooperative Evocii from Nem'ro's nearby workcamp. Finally, the meal and the "floorshow" were concluded and Caer and Quinn were allowed to rise to leave.

Toth'lazen stopped them, nodding towards Nem'ro. "The mighty Nem'ro extends his previous invitation, fearsome Red Blade," announced the Twi'lek with a brief bow of his head. "Your things have been brought from the cantina and your rooms are ready."

Quinn shot a dark look at the Twi'lek, about to argue, when Caer smiled and caught his forearm, her nails digging into his arm through the wool of his coat. "That is…most kind of the great Nem'ro," ground out Quinn.

Caer smiled at the Twi'lek. "Please tell mighty Nem'ro that we appreciate his hospitality. And I expect that the contract will be sent to our room?"

Toth'lazen nodded, bowing again and motioning that the pair of humans could leave the room. The walk to their new room was passed in tense silence until Caer stopped in front of a room at the end of a hallway. Sweeping her palm over the door scanner, she watched the lights turn green and the door slide open.

"Caer—" began Quinn, surprised when Caer suddenly plastered herself to him, her lips slamming against his. All brain function ceased for a few moments afterward as he found himself taking over the kiss and pinning her against the wall.

"Have to disable the surveillance," whispered Caer, breathless as she clung to the raven-haired Imperial.

Quinn's eyes widened and he looked somewhat aghast at the very pliant woman in his arms. Oh, damn, he thought with a groan. The only reason she'd kissed him was to keep him from talking before it was safe. "Of course," he agreed, his tone morose as he studied the floor, hands shoved into his pants pockets.

Disentangling herself from Quinn's arms, Caer shot him a coquettish grin. "Not that I wouldn't mind a repeat, Quinn. I've always wondered what lurked beneath your oh-so-proper shell."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	7. Bedtime Stories

Author's Note: *Peeks up from a hastily dug bunker.* Is anyone still there and not wanting to kill me after that last chapter? Yeah—we're slowly heading into slightly smuttier territories. Since we're dealing with Quinn, though, he's gonna be leaving furrows from dragging his heels through the smuttier territories. Since there have been a few questions about Quinn's M! Sith Warrior Darth, I've shamelessly pumped my husband for his perspective as a male Darth. So, thank you, my darling Xavier, for helping me to write this.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

**Chapter Seven: Bedtime Stories**

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

_"I wouldn't mind a repeat, Quinn." _

In the end, he'd not had the courage to pursue the interlude further. Even with an invitation such as the one extended by Caer, Quinn had instead turned his attention to immediately contacting his Darth via the now-secure holoterminal. He'd hidden behind his cool professional façade and given his report to the purebred Sith, all the while knowing that Caer was watching from the other side of the room. Nothing more had been said of the kiss and he'd ruthlessly shoved the memory to the back of his mind.

Now, though, in the dark, there was nowhere to hide. Quinn rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling of the room he shared with Caer. There was nothing extravagant or noteworthy about this particular ceiling. Grey duracrete strengthened with durasteel provided strength and sound dampening as well as natural temperature control. Likely it was the same ceiling as in every other room in the palace.

Sleep was eluding him. Part of the reason for his lack of sleep may have been the fact that he half-dangled off the mattress. In fact, snuggled against his side with her hand curled over his chest slept Caer. She was a bedhog. At the start of the evening, she'd been on her side of the massive bed and he'd been on his. Over the course of the night, though, she'd migrated across the expansive bed, the equivalent of two regular mattresses slammed together, and now lay draped along his side, leaving him clutching the edge of the bed in a bid not to press back against her. He could feel every curve and breath and it was driving him slowly mad.

Slipping out from beneath her arm, he shifted and stood away from the bed. Perhaps a cup of something would help him to sleep. Padding across the room, he found the pot and began the process of making himself a cup of tea. Long minutes later he sat on the sole couch provided in the room, the video monitor's volume barely audible as it showed holoimages of the day's events in the greater galaxy.

Had he been aboard the ship of the Emperor's Wrath, he might have found himself in the galley, sharing a cup of tea with Vette in a quiet moment while they watched the holoterminal together. A pang of regret echoed in him as he thought on his shipmates. He had been in an impossible situation, having to choose between two masters to betray.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he examined the burning, hateful thing that had filled him inside, threatening to swallow him whole. It was shame. He knew, empirically, that losing a fight to a Sith, let alone a half-mad Purebred called the Emperor's Wrath who radiated evil in thick inky waves, was an almost foregone reality. And yet…he felt the burning sting of reproach and regret. Things might go back to a shadow—a semblance—of the calm and peace that had existed on the Wrath's ship before his betrayal but it would never be the same. He would never be the same. He would always be cautious, afraid to show even a hint of disloyalty.

Death didn't scare Quinn—he'd accepted long ago that he should have died several times over. No, what scared him was dishonor. He sipped the tea now long gone cold and pulled a face. But he did not set it down, instead sipping at the tepid beverage as the holoimages danced before his eyes and finally abandoning the cup to the floor.

"What are you doing out of bed?" came the sleep-roughened voice from behind his ear, Caer's fingers coming to rest on his trapezius muscles, lightly kneading tension from the base of his neck out to his shoulders and down the back of his shoulder blades.

Quinn let his head forward as tension he hadn't even thought to remark upon suddenly evaporated. He let a low groan escape as he felt her fingers work through the knots littering his shoulders and back. "You should go back to bed," he suggested when he finally regained the ability to speak.

"Don't wanna," came the slightly growly answer from the region of his ear as she pressed the heel of her thumb harder on a particularly stubborn knot in his back, earning a moan from Quinn's lips. She allowed herself a victorious smirk when he didn't fuss any further and just enjoyed the massage that she gave him.

Finally, though, Quinn straightened and lifted her hands from his shoulders. Standing, he stood away from the couch to face her. She looked tempting in her nightclothes. Not there was anything flirty or revealing about the lawn nightgown that fluttered above her knees. Her hair, though, tumbled around her shoulders in thick auburn waves, her eyes still had the half-lidded sleepy cast to them, and her cheeks were flushed both from sleep and from her massaging Quinn. "Come now, Caer. Time that all good little girls get back to bed," he suggested, trying to sound fatherly and failing miserably.

Caer arched a brow but took the hand he held out to her, allowing him to lead her back to the bed. Sitting down, she swung her legs back onto the bed and scooted back to "her side," as he liked to call it. She patted the right side of the bed, shooting him an expectant look. "Time for good little boys to come back to bed too," she lilted.

Quinn shook his head with a chuckle. "Now, now, Caer, I'm not a good little boy. Go to sleep." He turned back to the couch, determined to wait her out.

Lying on her side, watching Quinn as he settled himself once again in front of the holoviewer, she shook her head. At this rate, sleep would be a long time coming. "Tell me a story?"

Quinn startled, looking back over his shoulder in bewilderment. "A story? Like a bedtime story?"

Caer nodded quickly, attempting to affix as innocent an expression on her face as she could. "Otherwise I'll just bother you all night," she warned, a hint of teasing in her tone.

Quinn groaned and stood, stomping back to the bed and sitting on the edge. "A bedtime story," he groused. He glared down at the Cipher agent. "You must have been a trying child," he muttered.

Caer snickered. "The worst," she admitted, pulling the blanket up under her chin. "Story?"

Quinn shook his head, closing his eye. "Fine, then." He drew in a breath before starting. "Once upon a time, there was a young purebred Sith. A true warrior. He had great strength and a certain half-mad nobility, but he frightened his master. His master saw the young Sith as a threat to his own power base. So the master tried to kill his apprentice."

Caer watched Quinn's body language. Interesting.

"But the apprentice lived and was recognized by the Emperor himself as his living embodiment of his wrath. The Emperor needed the young Sith to fight his old Master but the young Sith forgot that one of his own soldiers, a man he trusted and depended upon, had sworn allegiance first to the old Master and owed the old Master his life. So, when the old Master came to the soldier and asked him to betray the young Sith, the soldier, with a heavy heart, did so. But the soldier failed. The young Sith, enraged, beat the soldier for his betrayal but let him live. The soldier, battered, rededicated himself to the young Sith and fought to earn back his loyalty and trust. The young Sith, with the soldier at his side, did defeat the old Master. And everyone lived happily ever after. The end."

Caer nodded, eyelids fluttering as she fought off sleep. "A good story, Malavai. Perhaps someday I'll tell you a story too." She covered his hand with hers atop the cool sheets, fingers entwining absently.

Quinn nodded, letting out a breath. "I think I would like that." He stared down at their entwined fingers, not ready to meet her eyes. Suddenly he was so tired. The space beside her looked so inviting. Sighing, he laid down beside her, not terribly surprised when she snuggled against his side again.

Caer chuckled sleepily. "I'm not so sure you would, Mal. In most of my stories, no one makes it out alive."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Dreams chased Lok'nar's from sleep as he lay aboard the Fury, his bride wrapped around him. Jaesa had certainly become all that he could have hoped for in her total acceptance of the Dark Side and her devotion to him. That he loved her, he was almost certain. Well, as much as he was able to love anyone, he supposed. He possessed her and wanted her, had even promised to keep himself from other women. That in itself seemed an affront to both his nature and the Dark Side, but he had done it.

He'd received a quick holomessage from the Captain earlier, briefly outlining what his current mission was and advising that the situation was proceeding smoothly. And he'd caught sight of the woman with whom his Captain was working—pretty, he supposed. She was curvier than his Jaessa and had carried herself with the air of one used to violence and good at surviving it. Part of Lok'nar relished the idea of seeing how much the Captain's new friend could take—but it would likely make Jaesa angry and domestic bliss was a worthwhile enough goal to forgo random torture, no matter how satisfying.

As if sensing that her liege lord was thinking about her, Jaesa's red-tinged eyes opened. "My Lord?" she whispered, small hands sliding along his chest.

"Ah, Jaesa," purred Lok'nar, pulling his young wife atop him, appreciating the surprise and lust that showed in her face. All thoughts of his Captain were soon forgotten as he got down to the business of pleasing his apprentice.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	8. A Little Recreational Homicide

Author's Note: First off—thank you to all of you who have been reading this story from jump and all of the new people who are reading/following this story. I can't begin to tell you how much of a thrill I get when I see a review or a comment or a pm about this story—it really does make my day and inspire me to write more. So, please keep those comments and suggestions and questions coming and I'll be a very happy, prolific, super-hyper writer.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

**Chapter Eight: A Little Recreational Homicide**

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

The sound of her holocommunicator beeping woke Caer. Groaning, she slowly pulled herself from the incredibly warm and comfortable embrace of a sleeping Malavai Quinn. Sometime during the night he'd finally given up all pretense of trying to keep to "his side," instead allowing her to curl around him like a tame Nexu kitten. Indeed, were it not for the fact that only Keeper and Kaliyo had this particular holofrequency, she might have ignored the beeping and just burrowed deeper into the bed with Malavai.

But, since it was someone who might have vital information, Caer swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded to the communicator. Tapping it, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

"Ah, good morning, Agent," came the cheerful tones of Doctor Lokin, the balding scientist offering her a warm grin. "How are you finding Hutta and the company of Captain Quinn?" The sparkle in the older man's eyes was a little too knowing for either Caer's or Lokin's good.

Caer grimaced. "Fine, Lokin. Is this a social call or is this important?"

Lokin sobered, though there was a touch of a smile still on his bearded face. "Quite right, Agent. To business, then. A certain Zabrak fellow has been making none-too-subtle inquiries about the return of the Red Blade. A Dheno Rey—does he sound familiar?"

Caer's face flushed with anger as her body went rigid. "That rat bastard. Yes, I've met the cretin. Is he on Hutta?"

Lokin nodded, consulting a datapad he had in his hand. "Apparently, Mr. Rey claims to be a close personal friend of the Red Blade. From what I've been able to find in the files, he's a two-bit hustler with a bad habit of crossing any number of criminal elements. There's even a bounty on him from the Mandalorians—interesting." He tapped another screen before meeting Caer's gaze. "Overall he's a simple thug, often without funds, who enjoys manipulating and scamming others to get by. Do you want me to send Kaliyo to deal with him?" The question of how the Zabrak would be dealt with wasn't in question—you didn't threaten an intelligence operation and walk away.

Caer shook her head, tapping her chin with one manicured nail. "No. I need Kaliyo to work with Karrels Javis. We'll need Karrels Javis to secure our credentials with the Hutts. I'll handle this problem personally. Thank you, Lokin."

Doctor Lokin nodded benignly. "Very good, Agent. Do be careful, though. Operations can get messy."

Caer flicked off the communicator and glanced back at the sleeping Quinn. Time to get to work.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Ah, come on, sweetheart. Just let me in to see the boss," leered Dheno Rey, staring down at the petite Twi'lek known as Juno.

Juda arched a brow, lavender eyes narrowing. "Dheno, Nem'ro is very busy today. And you're not welcome, Dheno." To say that she did not like the Zabrak would have been an understatement. The man had a tendency to lurk and loved to harass anything remotely female. Everything about the hustler made the paymaster's skin crawl. And the fact that she was alone with him made her even more nervous than usual.

Dheno's smile evaporated, a hardness filling his eyes. "And you're nothing but a pirate's slut." He planted his fists on the tabletop of her desk, leaning towards the smaller woman. "I have information that the Hutt will find interesting. Don't make me angry, sweetheart—I know how to play rough, too."

"Insulting the lady, Dheno?" chided Caer from behind the Zabrak, arms crossed over her chest as she glared at Dheno Rey. She remembered him—the brown-and-cream-horned alien had played her back when she first was on Hutta. Right after she'd agreed to bed him to keep her secret is when the real Red Blade's men had first appeared. Yeah, Caer didn't believe in coincidences. And she had a definite score to settle with this particular bastard. "That's not wise."

Juda allowed a tiny smile of thanks for Caer at the pirate's interruption. She recognized the woman—the Red Blade—from her last visit to Hutta. The curvy pirate had been the talk of the palace and neighboring Jiguuna for weeks after she'd left with Kaliyo-though much of the talk had been why someone hadn't thought of making a more than provocative holovid of the two women together. Now, as Juda watched the pirate queen advance on Dheno Rey, the human's expression predatory at best, Juda too wondered at the profits that would have been spawned by such an enterprise. "Good morning, Red Blade. Nem'ro's waiting for you."

Caer nodded, eyes narrowed at Dheno. "Dheno Rey, my old friend," acid dripped from her tone as she glared at the man. "Juda, please let the mighty Nem'ro know that I'm going to be slightly late. I'm just dealing with a trash problem first."

Juda nodded, already keying a quick message to her employer as she watched the drama in front of her play out. It was like watching a Nexu cat play with its food. Caer gripped Dheno's arm, guiding him away from Juno's desk and down the hallway closer to the main common area of the palace. Once they were out of earshot, Caer forced the man into an alcove. It might have almost been romantic, had Caer's expression not bordered on murderous. "Dheno, I don't like being double-crossed. And I like you even less than most people who do double-cross me," she warned through gritted teeth.

Dheno gulped. "Why, Blade?" he whined, stumbling as the surprisingly strong woman pushed him against the wall. "I thought we were good together. And I would never betray you." His attempts at flattery and charm floundered.

Caer stepped closer, the vibroblade that she had palmed out of sight of the Zabrak's gaze. "Now, that's funny, Dheno. Because I've checked you out since that first time we met. You betrayed Andronikos Revelwhen his crew mutinied. You threw your old pal Tyresius Lokai under the transport when things got hot on Corellia. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. You've made a living out of betraying anyone you could just to save your own skin and make a quick credit." She stepped closer, her breath ghosting against his throat, smelling the fear coming off the man in waves. "And you know what the universal opinion of you is, Dheno? That you'd be better off dead."

Dheno's mouth opened in a silent scream as she drove the vibroblade into his chest.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

The sound of the refresher woke Quinn. He slowly sat up, covers pooling around his hips as he stretched catlike. Once he'd come back to bed with Caer, he'd slept soundly. Then again, he'd been dead exhausted. A quick glance at the chrono beside the bed told him that it was still early, though later than he was accustomed to sleeping. He'd not even felt Caer leave their bed, which surprised him. Usually the Captain was a light sleeper.

Sometime during the night he'd abandoned his sleep shirt in deference to the seeping humidity of the Hutta night air. Tossing off the sheets, he stood and padded to the refresher. The door was ajar; he stepped through the open space. He rubbed the sleep from his blue eyes as he leaned against the counter. "Good morning," he offered in the direction of the pounding spray.

The shower stopped, and he heard a sharp intake of breath. Moments later the door to the 'fresher had opened, letting out billowing clouds of steam into the room. Out stepped Caer from the refresher, her body wrapped in a thick, plushy robe that covered her from neck to ankle. "Good morning, Malavai. I didn't mean to wake you," she admitted, running fingers through the wet strands of her hair that hung past her shoulders as she brushed past him to stand at the counter beside him.

"I didn't hear you get up."

Caer watched the man in the mirror. His posture was deliberately, carefully casual as he watched her, his profile in the mirror. Even just standing in his pajama bottoms and bare feet, he still radiated that cool complexity that was Quinn. But it was his eyes—those sapphire pools framed by those ebony lashes—that held her. Made her want to tell the truth, she realized with a start and a touch of fear. His hip leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. She had to wrench her gaze away as she started to follow his pectoral and abdominal muscles to dangerous territories. "I was quiet. I had a little recreational murder to commit."

Quinn chuckled. "Recreational murder? Is body disposal on the morning's agenda?"

Caer shook her head, biting her lip as she stared at his profile in the slightly steamed mirror. "Not necessary. The body's already been tossed to the Akk dogs behind the palace—it should be barely bones by now." She stepped back from the counter, cinching the belt of her robe tighter to her body. "Nem'ro's paymaster arranged for the body to get tossed out."

Quinn sobered, leaning closer. Now that was interesting. "Si'na's mistress?"

Caer smiled enigmatically, leading Quinn from the refresher room to the bedroom proper. Stepping to the wardrobe and behind the semi-opaque privacy screen, she dropped the robe and quickly slipped into her clothes. Once she was dressed she stepped back into view, noting that Quinn's lips twitched at her seemingly out-of-character display of modesty. "You might want to get dressed, Malavai. We are having drinks with Juno and Hiram Si'na."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	9. Games Grown Ups Play (Part 1)

Author's Note: First off, there's smut in this chapter. I felt I had to warn you all. There's some implied femslash and a whole heck of a lot of blatant teasing. There's also implied drug use. And naked Malavai Quinn. Wow, when I start listing off the warnings, this sounds like a much more risqué chapter than I meant to write. And I wanted to thank all of you wonderful readers who have been giving me reviews and comments—you are truly the spark that keeps me writing. Please, if you like it or if you have suggestions how I can make it better, please review or PM me. I am compulsive about responding. Yeah, years of therapy. Now, on with the show. And, yes, I know I'm likely going to Hell for what I'm doing to these poor characters.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story. Please-no flames.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

**Chapter Nine: Games Grown Ups Play (Part 1)**

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Drinks had turned into an afternoon of reminiscing and conversation, with a sumptuous meal that would have rivaled the best chefs of Nar Shadaa's Promenade. The Alderaanian salmon had been cooked to perfection and the Corellian white had been an excellent vintage. As they'd lounged in the suite that served as Juda's and Si'na's home, things had turned…interesting.

Apparently Juda had wanted to show the pretty pirate a more…personal…gratitude. To Malavai's surprise, the Twi'lek had all but dragged Caer into a room off the main lounge area for several long hours, sounds that left little to the imagination muffled by the door but still able to be heard by the two men.

"She really likes your girl," chuckled Hiram, setting his booted feet on the low table in front of him. Si'na had not changed much in ten years—though it was apparent that his copper hair had not seen an Imperial barber in at least that long. "I haven't seen Juda this enamored of a Human other than me since the last winner of the Great Hunt blew through here."

Malavai cast a glance at the closed bedroom door, images flashing unbidden in his mind of what the two women could be doing to and with each other. He shook his head, reaching for the wine that Hiram had poured him. "So how's civilian life treating you, Hiram?"

Si'na shrugged, massive shoulders moving like rounded mountains. "Same officious bastards to deal with but at least the scenery is different." He sipped his own drink. "Though working for the Cartel has its definite perks. And Juda's happy; can't say that she would have been on Drommund Kaas."

Quinn nodded, agreeing silently. While a dalliance with an alien might be overlooked, true intimacy with an alien by an Imperial was more than frowned upon. He cast another speculative glance at the bedroom door as it slowly opened. Juda, now wrapped in a thin, silky robe, strode towards Si'na. With a giggle, the Twi'lek dropped onto his thigh, kissing the copper-haired ex-Imperial deeply.

"I think I like pirates, Si'na. Can we become pirates?" cooed the Twi'lek, meeting Quinn's gaze.

Quinn smirked then winced, rubbing at his temple. Ever since they'd arrived at Si'na's room, his head had been throbbing. But he couldn't go back to their rooms for a hypospray—not without leaving Caer without backup.

Si'na stroked down Juda's lekku, enjoying the shudder that raced through her body in response to his touch. "For you, my dear, anything." Si'na watched Quinn squint in pain and allowed himself a tiny grin. "Hey, Mal, let me give you something for that." The copper-haired man stood, crossing to a chest near the door to fetch a bottle. Tipping the contents into Quinn's drink, he motioned for the Imperial to drink.

Malavai nodded, gulping down the drink, grimacing at the overwhelming fruit flavor that invaded his mouth. "What is it?"

Si'na chuckled. "It'll take care of that headache, guaranteed." He folded his arms over his chest, watching the dark-haired man. The Malavai Quinn he'd known ten years ago would never have taken any medicine from anyone else, regardless of the source. Interesting. "Now, I think I should get you and your lady back to your rooms so I can enjoy my own. Juda?"

The Twi'lek nodded, lavender eyes narrowed. She'd spotted the particular bottle that Si'na had slipped Malavai and knew, from experience, what that drug did to Humans. "I'll get her. "

Malavai nodded then blinked. There was something…odd…in how he felt. He wiped a hand down his face, trying to pinpoint what had changed. He started as he felt the warm fingertips of Caer close over his bicep, the touch seeming to burn through his tunic to the skin beneath.

Caer frowned, glancing back at Si'na. The older man had an innocent look and Juda sported a guilty expression of her own. "Thank you so much for your hospitality."

Juda nodded, walking with Caer towards the door and out of earshot of Si'na. "Blade, take care of him. He—" she started.

"Juda!" bellowed Si'na, striding towards the women before throwing a beefy arm around his lover's shoulder, drawing the Twi'lek back against him. "Thank you again, Mistress Blade. You've been most entertaining."

Caer nodded, tugging Malavai behind her. That the dark-haired Imperial didn't object to their intertwined fingers should have been her first indication of a problem.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

The walk back to their rooms was mostly silent. Fortunately, most of the people who otherwise might have passed them were engaged in other pursuits and Caer and Malavai arrived at the suite without incident. Caer palmed the door scanner, nodding to Quinn as they both stepped into the room. It took only moments to scan the room and deactivate the surveillance devices left in their absence, during which time Quinn was quiet.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," she advised, already toeing off her boots and pulling her shirt over her head as she headed towards the refresher.

Quinn nodded absently, blue eyes following a trail of clothing that led into the refresher room. He still tried to pinpoint the change that he felt within him. Then it hit him. No limits. No guilt. Nothing to color what he wanted with his ever-present self-control and better judgment—and what he wanted at this moment was the curvy woman stripping in preparation for a shower.

He reached for the buttons on his tunic, making quick work of the row of small silver buttons that dotted it from neck to waist. He wrenched the shirt from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor, the undershirt following with a barely contained snarl. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots and socks. Now clad only in his trousers, he padded barefoot across the floor to the refresher room door. The shower had shut off moments before and he could hear the large sunken tub, the one that neither of them had used since obtaining the room, being filled.

He waited until he heard the unmistakable sounds of a body lowering itself into the water before pushing open the door to the bathroom. The lights within the bathing chamber were dimmed, casting long, deep shadows around the room. Steam frosted the mirrors that covered one side of the room. In the corner, sunken beneath the floor level, lay a stone-hewn tub, the sides seemingly having been formed from the same slab of rock as the rest of the room's floor. "Is there room for one more?"

Caer cracked a green eye open, a sarcastic reply poised to drop from her lips about the joys of debriefing when she stopped. Something was different. Surprise swept over her face as she watched, mouth slightly agape, as Malavai stepped into the room. Something in her brain snapped, leaving her feeling exceptionally stupid, as she watched the man who she'd admired from afar slowly unfasten his pants and let them drop on the damp stone floor. Her eyes widened as she swept her gaze over him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, not quite believing what she was seeing.

"Caer. Are you quite alright?" If she didn't know better, she'd bet that was a teasing tone to his voice.

Caer swallowed, nodding dumbly as she watched Malavai stride towards her, only clad in his grey boxer briefs. She couldn't speak as she drank in the pale vision in front of him. Clearly he needed to see a bit more sun, she thought absently, eyes tracing the lines of his pectorals and abdominals. Other than his pallor, she could find no fault with the vision before her. "Fine." She stared down at the water, suddenly uncertain then took a breath. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered softly before meeting his gaze. "Malavai, I'm going to try to do the honorable thing for once and give you an out. You are standing in range of a woman who would happily do very bad, very pleasurable things to you for hours on end and damn the consequences. If you are not interested, you can turn your very fine ass around and head back out of here."

Quinn smirked, fingers toying with the waistband of his briefs before he slid them slowly down. As he lowered himself into the hot water, he hissed. "Working on that speech long, were you?"

Caer swallowed, her mouth snapping shut as she got her bearings. She was in a tub. With a naked Malavai Quinn. And he was teasing her for trying to be honorable. "Fuck you."

A quick surge across the tub and Malavai had pinned Caer to the side of the tub, strong arms framing her prison on either side of her. Dipping his head down to rub his stubbled cheek against her throat, he chuckled darkly. "Oh, I plan to."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	10. Games Grown Ups Play (Part 2)

Author's Note: So, there seem to be two camps when it comes to this chapter. Most seem to like the thrust of the last chapter but some feel that I've got both the Imperial Agent and Malavai completely OOC and that basically this has turned into a smutfest, a la Game of Thrones. While part of me is secretly ecstatic to even be compared to one of my favorite shows, I'm not sure that I agree with this assessment. I've played, as has my husband, a Sith Warrior all the way through. I think we both understand the Sith Warrior and his/her companions. That being said, I warned everyone that I was going into the realm of smut. I want to reiterate this—if smut is not your cup of tea or if you are too young to read this, go back now and turn off the "M" option for fanfic and stop reading this story. I have other stories that aren't M so you can read something of mine that won't burn your brain, if you like. When last we left our fearless spies, they were in a bathtub. Thank you, especially to Aela Darkstar—your comments gave me the confidence to finish this chapter. As always, if you like it or if you have suggestions how I can make it better, please review or PM me. I am still compulsive about responding. Now, again, on with the show. And, yes, I still know I'm going to Hell for what I'm doing to these poor characters.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

**Chapter Nine: Games Grown Ups Play (Part 2)**

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

It had finally come to this. All of the teasing, the innuendo, the subtle hints and blatant invitations over the past ten years—it had all culminated in this. Caer gasped as Malavai gently nibbled on the column of her throat, her fingers spasmodically clenching Quinn's shoulders. Under the water, she felt his hands sliding over her soap-slicked frame, following the line of her spine down to her ass and lifting her onto his lap as if she weighed nothing. Her head fell back with a gasp as she felt all of him pressed against her. And, oh, it was even better than she had ever imagined.

"Caer, I don't want an out," he murmured, his hands cupping her heavy breasts, thumbs stroking the coral tips as he spoke. "And I expect you to hold up your end of that promise." He smirked at her as he lowered his head to one rose-tipped breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth.

Caer's head fell back against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering shut as she processed what was going on. She'd tried to be a good girl—given him an out that had almost killed her to offer. And he chose to stay. He was still there.

Oh, he was definitely there, some part of her brain cackled. She could feel him pressing against her belly, firm and hot and begging for her attention. Her hand dipped down, fingertips trailing from the flared head to the nest of soft black at the root of him. Slender fingers closed, oh so gently over the root of him. She knew him to be well-endowed (playing nurse while he'd been knocked out had proven that quite effectively) and the surge of power she got at the gasp he gave nearly drove her over the edge. Oh, she smirked, he was sensitive. She gave him a gentle squeeze before she started stroking him, enjoying the play of silk over molten steel beneath her fingers.

"Keep that up and we won't last long," warned Quinn, eyes narrowing as her nipple popped from his mouth. His hips moved in time with her strokes, filling the tub with rippling waves that splashed water onto the floor.

Caer giggled, shifting on his lap. "Malavai, we have all night." She leaned forward, capturing his mouth with her own. "This is just round one."

Malavai fixed her with an assessing gaze as he pulled back from the kiss. She got the feeling that he was considering her with the same intensity as a tactical problem. He'd always been good at tactics, she remembered. "You know the old saying," he muttered, his own hand sliding down between her thighs. He found her, impossibly hot and wet even in the water, and stroked the cleft between her thighs with determination. "To the victor go the spoils."

Caer squeaked as he entered her with his finger, the digit corkscrewing inside her and hitting all the right places. That was…unfair. Her own stroking of him faltered as she felt him add first one, then two additional fingers to that first clever digit pumping within her. It took a moment for her to find her voice, and when she did it was higher pitched than normal. "Are we at war?" She squeaked, shutting her eyes, when Malavai pressed his thumb against her clit.

Quinn chuckled, kissing her lips as he felt her start to shudder around his fingers. "Did anyone tell you that you talk too much, Caer?"

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Si'na gasped, straining for breath against the gloved hand pressed to his throat. "Mal, come on."

Quinn's grim face showed no sign of patience or mercy. "What did you slip me, Hiram?" He tightened his grip on his old "friend's" throat. When he'd woken less than an hour before, he'd found his naked body wrapped around an equally naked and sated Caer. The evidence of their activities was clear, as were his memories. And that was the problem.

Si'na's fingers scrabbed at Quinn in a frenzy. "Look, buddy, it just looked like you needed a little help getting started." He drew in a ragged breath as Quinn finally released him, collapsing on the floor against the wall. Si'na looked up at the dark haired man with squinting rheumy eyes. "Besides, it just lowers inhibitions. You're not gonna do anything you weren't gonna do already."

Quinn growled, drawing his blaster. He wanted to kill him. He really, really wanted to. "Why?"

Si'na shrugged. The copper-haired man figured that if he was going to die then there wasn't much that he could do about it. "Why not?"

Quinn shook his head in disgust, holstering his blaster. The ex-Imperial wasn't worth it. "We're done, Hiram."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"I owe you an apology. I will understand if you cannot work with me any longer."

Caer groaned into the pillow, shaking her head. This was officially turning into a bad dream. And it had started with such promise. Blinking her eyes open, she met the earnest and contrite gaze of Malavai Quinn. "Oh, wonderful. The guilt has set in." She sat up, the sheets pooling at her waist.

Malavai quickly turned so that his back was to the bed, a blush sweeping over his cheeks at her nakedness. "You might want to get dressed."

Caer frowned, slinging her legs over the edge of the bed and pulling on the discarded robe from the night before. A delicious ache reminded her of each and every act from the night before and she shivered at the feel of the robe on her skin. "You owe me nothing, Malavai." She stomped to stand in front of the older man, noting that he had his eyes focused on the wall. "Well, nothing other than an explanation for this about-face." She drew a breath, arms crossed over her breasts. "I think I'm owed that much."

Quinn dropped his gaze down to meet hers, hurt in his blue eyes. "I wasn't myself last night. Hiram slipped me something—something that—"

"I'm going to kill him," murmured Caer, already going towards her gear.

Quinn caught her arm with his hand, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. Because last night never happened. Not really. The man who was with you last night wasn't me. Not really."

Caer swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. "Right. Of course." She continued on towards her gear and grabbed her clothes. "While I was with Juda last night she was laying out an invitation from the Hutt Cartel to work with them to secure something called Isotope 5." She took a steadying breath, glad that Quinn could only see her back. "I'm to meet a Hutt on a pleasure barge on Nar Shadaa in two days to firm up the details." She turned back to look at Quinn, her face schooled into a serene mask.

Quinn nodded. "I'll make travel arrangements for us."

Caer shook her head. "No. I'll continue on alone, Malavai." She stepped closer to him, kissing him on the cheek, the act as much a goodbye as any other. "It was good to see you, Mal. Thank you. I couldn't have gotten this far without you." She stepped into the refresher room, her clothes bundled to her chest, and closed the door.

Quinn was surprised that the soft shutting of the door sounded so final.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	11. Off Book

Author's Note: The last chapter very nearly was the last chapter of this story, other than a possible epilogue. Then I chatted with Aela Darkstar and Eri'anya and, thanks to these two fabulous ladies, decided that this story still had some life in it. So, we're continuing. And, in my head, they've now become the equivalent of good fairies or fairy godmothers to this story. Yeah, showing my Disneyfied roots with that comment. And, yes, as in life there are consequences for actions taken and ignored. By the way, after reading a very wonderful fic on the swtor kink meme featuring the Imperial Agent and the Minister of Intelligence, he will always and forever be Gregory in my mind. Just saying.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

**Chapter Ten: Off Book**

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Kaliyo leaned against the holoterminal, grinning. "Hey, Agent. How's it going with the Imp?"

The silvered image of Caer shook her head, one gauntleted hand resting on her hip. "Change of plans. I'm going off book on this one. I'm catching a shuttle in a few minutes to leave Hutta."

Kaliyo tensed, straightening. She watched as Lokin stepped out of the infirmary, a concerned look on his grizzled face. Yeah, having a Cipher agent go off script was never good. "Define 'off book.'"

A shrug from the image atop the holoterminal. Yeah, that was way too casual, even for Caer. "Malavai is going back to his Darth. I'm headed to a meeting in Nar Shadaa. I'll contact you once I'm there."

Lokin stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. "So, no backup? Shall I or Mistress Kaliyo join you, Agent?"

Caer shook her head, the image waffling atop the terminal. "No need. My cover is intact. Just keep Karrels on standby. I'll be in touch."

Kaliyo stared at the holoterminal after the communication was severed, her frown deepening. "That sounded like complete bantha shit."

Lokin sighed. "I agree with your colorful assessment, Mistress Kaliyo. Something must have happened on Hutta. But clearly our Agent is not going to tell us what events transpired." He stroked his bearded chin, dark eyes distant. "But we must wait and have faith in our Agent."

Kaliyo cast the older man an incredulous glare. "Seriously? This is the same Agent who agreed, of her own choice, to be tortured so she could give false information to the Star Cabal. She ain't exactly firing on all cylinders all the time, Doc."

Lokin grimaced. He remembered. He'd spent the better part of a month after the end of the Star Cabal fiasco putting Caer back together in both body and mind. Though she would always bear some scars—it was the nature of their business, after all. "Nevertheless, Kaliyo, we must trust her. And in the meantime, I'll set Raina to monitoring all holofrequencies and data streams for any indications of a problem.

Kaliyo squared her shoulders. She knew who she had to beat an answer out of. And if she had to go through some scary-ass Darth to do it, so be it. "And if that doesn't work then I've got a Captain to hunt down."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Nar Shadaa was as neon-lit and noisy as ever. She still didn't like the moon—hadn't liked it the first time she came through with Kaliyo and the seedy bars and trash-strewn streets weren't improved. If anything, it seemed like there was more poverty and crime on the streets than before. More and more pairs of eyes watched her as she strode down the Promenade.

Part of her wondered if she should have had either Kaliyo or Lokin join her in lieu of Malavai. But the part of her that ached from her last encounter with Quinn scuttled all thoughts of having any backup around to see her not being the strong agent as expected. Last time she'd been here she'd worked with Watcher X—the almond-eyed ex-Imperial who'd been shut up in Shadow Town. Now she had no one on the inside, just an invitation to a party on a pleasure barge and a vague introduction to meet a mysterious but fabulously wealthy and powerful Hutt boss.

Caer glanced at the datapad that she'd pulled out her satchel, checking the address where she was to find a taxi to take her Toborro's pleasure barge. She was right on schedule, if a couple of days early. She hadn't wanted to spend any longer than necessary on Hutta after Quinn's "return to sanity." Fortunately, there wasn't exactly a lack of places to stay on the Smuggler's Moon. After checking into a rather sumptuous suite at the Casino as instructed, she'd begun some simple reconnaissance to take her mind off the fact that she was going to be sleeping alone.

First had been a quick sweep of the public areas of the casino, her eyes and scanner catching all the various forms of surveillance employed. Then she'd taken a quiet ride to the Promenade and found her way to the cantina snugged in among the shops. Tavern food was often the best form of comfort food, she'd found. Besides, like most voyeurs (and really, weren't all intelligence operatives a bit of a voyeur at heart?) she enjoyed people watching. And cantinas were one of the best spots to people watch.

Finding a quiet booth, she settled down with a mug of Corellian ale and a bowl of stew. The lunch rush had pretty much passed and only a few patrons still lounged around the cantina. The quiet was just fine with Caer. Finished with the stew, she pushed it away, clearing a spot on the table. From her satchel she pulled the leather bound drawing pad that she'd purchased not two hours before and the drawing pencils she always carried and set to work. She didn't get many opportunities to draw anymore—not since becoming Cipher Nine, at least. But sometimes the urge struck and she had to get it onto paper.

At least she was using her talents for good this time. Tapping the datapad that was ever-present, she pulled up the written description of the individuals in Toborro's organization. Holoimages of the major players were scarce but several detailed accounts remained. The pencils flew over the pages, sketches turning to more complete renderings with shade and dimension. Pictures of people she'd never met sprang onto the pages. To be fair, she wouldn't know how accurate the pictures she'd drawn were until she met the actual personages, but she thought, based on the descriptions, that they were likely correct. Scanning them, she uploaded them to her ship's mainframe, along with a quick note to her crew that she was fine. Satisfied, she stowed the art supplies and scanner back into her satchel, tossed down a few credits for the meal on the table, and headed out.

There was more to be done and the hours would tick by faster if she was active.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

As pleasure barges went, Toborro's was certainly impressive. Cages of wild and exotic animals ringed the perimeter, as did heavily armed men. She wouldn't call them soldiers. The gunmen all had a rough, uncouth look about them that screamed mercenary. That was in stark contrast to the glittering assemblage that milled around on the hovering barge. She thought she spotted a few Republic noteworthies from Corellia and Coruscant, and more than a few nobles from the warring houses on Alderaan. Interesting.

As was customary when dealing with Hutts, a crate of "gifts" had arrived earlier for Toborro. Most of the day had been spent selecting those gifts and arranging for their arrival to the barge. Caer had certainly learned since her days on Hutta to make sure of all parts of delivery and selection.

A Devaronian had appeared at her elbow as soon as she arrived aboard the barge and guided her towards the exceptionally large Hutt ensconced on a dais at one end of the ship. Gesturing towards a plushy divan, he'd then made his exit, disappearing back into the milling guests.

"Ah, the little pirate," boomed Toborro, rheumy eyes sweeping over her. "Your gifts are well received, little Blade. The might Nem'ro speaks highly of you. As does my nephew Faathra."

That was interesting. She hadn't known that Faathra was related to Toborro. "Great Toborro, you do this simple pirate a great honor by inviting me. How can I and my services aid you?" She accepted a glass of wine from the barely clad Twi'lek girl, stifling the wince that came automatically as she recognized that the girl was barely old enough or strong enough to carry the heavy tray.

Toborro chortled, fat rolling and squishing near her. "Ah. It is your services that I am most interested in, little pirate. I understand that you are not averse to taking risks."

"For the right price, mighty Toborro, any risk may be ventured. What risk are you referring to?"

The Hutt's brow ridge rose at the cagey answer. "I would almost think you a Jedi but no Jedi would wear that." He motioned to the outfit that she had purchased for the party with one stubby hand. "We have found a great new opportunity for profit. We require safe, fast transport that can avoid Republic and Imperial traffic. We understand that you are well-versed in smuggling."

Caer smirked. "A smuggler smuggles, mighty Toborro. What I do can be a little more…rambunctious." She sipped the wine. "I'm interested, as I'm sure my crew will be as well."

The Hutt smirked, nodding his jowled head. "We thought as much. Do you like the wine?"

Caer nodded. "It's quite good."

"Excellent. Now, enjoy the party, little pirate. We will talk again."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Raina Temple stared at the screen on her display, willing it to give her different information. Not that it would. The last that anyone had seen her Agent was boarding the Hutt's pleasure barge. That had been four days ago. Since then, she'd missed every check-in and the Cipher's protégé hadn't been able to find hide nor hair of Caer.

"Any change?" murmured Lokin, dropping a hand onto the dark-skinned girl's shoulder.

Raina shook her head, gnawing on her fingernails. At this rate, she might end up with bloody stumps for fingers. "No, Doctor. And I'm worried. I've tapped into the Casino's hotel and her things have been untouched and the room unused since Toborro's party. I have the taxi records and vid showing she got there—but then she vanishes. Like smoke."

Lokin's frown deepened. He was afraid of this. Part of why there was so little known about Toborro and his organization was because the Hutts, in this case, were zealously protective of this venture. After Caer's first missed check-in, he'd hacked into the Republic SIS's operations files about Toborro and found disturbing reports of agents tasked with infiltrating the Hutts being found dead, their bodies tortured beyond recognition. Though he hadn't told Raina, he had filled in Kaliyo, Vector and Scorpio with his findings.

Kaliyo was halfway out the door before Lokin even finished with his briefing, her intent clear.

Lokin didn't even try to stop her—he figured a Darth might have more luck.

Scorpio and Vector were on Nar Shadaa now, running down leads to try to find the missing agent.

And he was stuck here, on the ship. "We'll find her, Raina. You have to believe that."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Welcome back, Malavai," intoned Darth Lok'nar, nodding his head at the Imperial. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another week."

Quinn nodded as he stepped through the airlock onto the ship, his bag slung over his shoulder. "My part of the mission was completed early, milord. I return ready to serve you."

Lok'nar chuckled, the sound dark like pitch. "Then explain why there is an irate Rattataki in binders in my engine room?"

Quinn arched a brow, glancing towards the engine area of the ship. He could see Pierce standing outside the engine room, a fresh kolto bandage on the side of his thickly muscled neck. "Would her name be Kaliyo, perchance?"

A quick nod from the Darth was his answer. "I take it that she's the property of Intelligence?"

Quinn stifled a groan. "Yes, milord. Shall I speak with her?" Not that he wanted to speak with the woman, truly, but it seemed the only way to resolve the issue. He had not forgotten the threat that Kaliyo had made.

Lok'nar nodded again, his expression thoughtful. "Though I'm not certain how amenable she may be to conversation. But I'm certain you can make headway that I could not." His red eyes gleamed as he started back towards the bridge. "It's nice to have you back, Malavai."

Quinn groaned, wiping his hand down his face and taking a moment to drop his kit in the crew quarters before starting towards the engine room. He glanced up at Pierce, wincing at the inflamed scratches and bite marks that were clearly visible beyond the edges of the patch. "I'll take a look at that later," he advised the former Black Ops soldier in a low voice, motioning to the amateur patch job.

Pierce offered a tight nod of thanks, gauntleted hands gripping his rifle tight to his chestplate. "Jaesa might be in tune with the dark side but she's utter bollocks with a medkit." He glanced behind himself into the engine room, a snarl curling his lips. "Watch that one. She bites," he warned as he turned to follow Quinn.

Quinn nodded again, stepping into the engine room. Usually the domain of Vette, the mouthy Twi'lek was nowhere to be seen. Instead, kneeling on the grated floor was Kaliyo, her wrists behind her back in binders and her head cocked at an angle. "Mistress Kaliyo, I presume?" He stepped closer, assessing any damage that was visible. Other than some mottled bruising around her throat and on her bald, tattooed head, he saw no indication of injury. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person."

Kaliyo grinned, though it was more of a snarl. "I'll show you pleasure. Get these binders off me and I'll show you the pleasure of a slow evisceration." She purred the suggestion, lavender eyes sweeping between Quinn and Pierce.

Quinn cleared his throat. "As…entertaining as that might be for you, I'm afraid that I require my viscera to remain in my body and in their current condition, thank you." He stepped closer, concern seeping into the corners of his brain. "Why have you come here?"

Kaliyo rolled her eyes, rocking back on her heels and rising to stand. That she moved so easily in binders sent the clear message that it wasn't the first time the mercenary had been tied up. "I have a better question, Imp. What exactly happened on Hutta that made my Agent go off book?"

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

The world spun and Caer lurched to the side, losing the little food that still remained in her system from Toborro's party. She wasn't sure how many hours ago she'd eaten, but it had to be a few. She tended to lose track during a good beating. Or a bad beating. There really wasn't much of a difference that she could find, to be honest. All that she did know was that somehow she had screwed up. She wasn't sure when or how, but she figured that wasn't important at the moment. At any time her interrogator was going to come back through that cell door and the whole nasty process was going to start over again.

"Ah, the Red Blade. It's nice to meet such a beautiful living legend."

Caer lifted her head, wiping at the sick that stuck to her lips with her bindered hands. The hint of sarcasm was a nice touch. Well, at this point, not quite a hint. More like a deluge of sarcasm, she decided. Whomever was speaking—and he wasn't the same grunting bastard who'd done a number on her ribs—was backlit so she could only tell that he was a Devaronian. "What a nice thing for you to say. I think you have me at a disadvantage."

A rich chuckle was the answer from the silhouetted figure. "Oh, I certainly do have you at a disadvantage, little pirate. I hope you don't mind the accommodations—I know they're not quite up to the level of the Casino hotel, but we do want you to be comfortable."

Caer smirked. "In that case, might I recommend someplace with heat. And light. Oh, and something other than a duracrete floor for interest?"

That chuckle turned to a full blown laugh. "You have spunk! I like that. Unfortunately, my buyers don't. They want compliant. Pretty and compliant. So I'm afraid we're going to have to break you."

Caer slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, wincing at the shifting of broken bones and torn ligaments. "Others have tried. You wouldn't be the first."

"No. I guessed I wasn't, given those scars on your luscious body. Professionally done, I would say. By someone who appreciates their work. Torture is an art form—one rarely appreciated by the unworthy. I wonder, little Pirate, if you'll be so spunky after a few rounds with my crew." The threat was clear. "Now, are you going to be a good little girl and do what I ask of you?"

Caer swallowed. Rape was something that every female agent accepted was a possibility. During her torture on Corellia it had become a reality. But it was a reality that she really didn't have any interest in repeating if she could avoid it. Her voice was small, barely audible. She could play at obedience. "Yes. What do you want?"

The lights slowly came up and Caer finally got a look at the Devaronian. Son of a bitch, she thought in disgust, it was the same Devaronian from Toborro's paty. "Excellent. Now, my employer Toborro is very interested in cementing our business relationship. However, he needs to be able to trust you. Besides, you are beautiful Human, as Humans go. Toborro could not pass up the financial opportunities that you yourself provide."

Caer's heart sank. Bollocks.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Eckard, old man. Good to see you."

Doctor Eckard Lokin nodded at the image of the former Minister of Intelligence. "Good to see you as well, Gregory. How's the family?" It was just two old men, colleagues for decades, chatting. Yeah, right.

Gregory barked a laugh. "The same as always, Eckard. The wife is fussing about the grandchildren. How are things on your end?"

Ah, though Lokin. Now they come to the meat of the conversation. "Not so well, old friend. I'm afraid that we have a situation." He received a nod from Scorpio, the android having already ensured that the conversation was so thoroughly encrypted that no one other than the two men on the holocall would hear it or crack it. "My Agent has disappeared on Nar Shadaa."

Gregory's face sobered. "I see. And a recovery operation?"

"We're attempting to find her. She did transmit from the party and we have the holovids that were generated, so we do have some intel to work with. I have Raina working on parsing the data as we speak. But there is no sign of my Agent after she leaves Toborro's barge."

Gregory's jaw worked as he pondered the situation. On Drommund Kaas things had settled into a monotony of sorts. He missed the bustle of Intelligence. Which was why he still played spymaster with the few remaining Intelligence assets that had survived the purge. While Intelligence as a being might no longer exist, the threats to the Empire still did. And he would try to be ready for them. "I see. I may have a solution. Send me her particulars, Eckard. I have a call to make."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Incoming call!" shouted Mako, moving towards the holoterminal.

The winner of the Great Hunt and the adopted daughter of Mandalore looked up from the workbench where she was tinkering with her blaster. "Be there in a minute, Mako," she hollered, cleaning up the bits and bobs that always accumulated during any repair work. Tucking the better than new blaster back in its holster, she bounded up the stairs to the upper tier and grinned when she saw the hulking form of Mandalore. "Mandalore! This is a surprise!"

The form of the head of the Mandalorians grinned, his warmth apparent even on the holocall. "Jatisyc, it's good to see you. I have a favor to ask of you." His expression had turned grave.

Jatisyc nodded, arms crossed over her chest as she faced the holoterminal. "Anything, Mandalore. You know that."

Mandalore nodded. "Thank you. An old friend of mine asked for a favor. He needs a young lady found and rescued from the Hutts."

Gault, who had wandered back from the galley, whistled. "Sounds promising. Retrieval missions are our specialty." The Devaronian took a bite of his sandwich, winking at Mako as the little cyborg pouted. He'd scored the last of the nerf steak for that sandwich—there would be retaliation.

Jatisyc tapped on the holoterminal, pulling up a secondary image to show the target. "Wait—this is an Imperial Intelligence file—she's a spook?"

Mandalore nodded. "Yes. And it's imperative that she is brought back alive."

Jatisyc sighed. Imperial was better than Republic any day—at least the Imps didn't get all sanctimonious about methods. "Got it. Any intel on her last movements."

Mandalore motioned towards Mako, grinning as the cyborg started scrolling through the information streaming to her datapad. "You have everything I have. Go, my daughter."

The holoterminal flickered off and Jatisyc bounded towards the pilot's seat. "We're going to Nar Shadaa. Mako, call Torian. We'll pick him up on the way."

Mako grinned. They were back in action. Yeah, life had been a bit too quiet. "We're back in business!"

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	12. Hell Breaks Loose

Author's Note: So, this chapter took a little longer than the others, and for that I apologize. Thanks to the ever wonderful Aela Darkstar and Eri'anya, I have been spurred on to keep this story going. Ladies, I am in your debt. And to all of my wonderful readers I ask, again, please give me feedback. I live for feedback. Almost as much as I live for chocolate and snickerdoodles. So, even if it's just an anonymous ping, I will love you for it. There, shameless begging has been done. On with the show.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Eleven: Hell Breaks Loose

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Get dressed."

Caer looked down at the dress that had been tossed into her cell. Could something that short be called a dress? "I think it's missing something. Like the rest of it," she added, holding the miniscule gown up to herself. If she were to wear the scrap of shimmersilk it would cover her only from the tops of her thighs to just over her bust, with absolutely nothing left to the imagination above, below or in the middle. The only saving grace was that it was a soft misty grey—she actually thought it was quite a pretty shade. "Not that I mind the color but I prefer not to give myself frostbite."

The Devaronian chuckled, stroking his prominent cleft chin. His leathery skin reminded her of the upholstery on her speeder—though she didn't think that it was as soft. "Ya know, I really like you, Blade. May I call you Blade? You're not like my usual property—in fact, if you weren't fetching me such a pretty penny, I might keep you for myself." He waggled his eyeridges at her. "But, you, my lovely, are bought and paid for. And my client has certain—proclivities."

Caer frowned. Not what she had been expecting, though she had to ask herself why not. Slaving was the Hutt's bread and butter—though they usually went with non-Humans as a rule. Yet another reason why she didn't like Nar Shadaa, she reminded herself crossly. "I don't give a flying freakish fuck what proclivities your client has." The dress sailed back across the room to land at the Devaronian's feet in a loose ball. "Because I am not for sale."

The Devaronian glanced at the two hulking Gamorreans on either side of him before stepping into the cell. The message was clear. If she fought back again, the porcine aliens would have no problem beating her into unconsciousness again. And then she would have no protection at all from anything that anyone or anything wanted to do to her. At least awake she could figure out how to escape. She had to hold onto that. "No, my dear, you misunderstand me. You're not for sale. You've already been sold. Or, rather, purchased on spec. I don't usually like to do that but I couldn't resist the credits being offered for you." He rubbed his hands together in barely contained glee, sweeping his reddish amber gaze over her. The kolto had done wonders to heal the signs of the beatings that had been required to put her in line—an unfortunate necessity. Then again, she had marks from previous dalliances with torture so he was certain the buyer wouldn't mind. "Now, I don't care if you go into the carbonite naked or in that." He stooped down, grabbing the now slightly dirtier dress from the ground, and holding it out towards her. But I'm shipping you out tonight. It's a long trip to Corellia."

Corellia? Caer shuddered, hugging herself more tightly. The supposed jewel of the Republic still gave her nightmares. She rubbed her hands up and down her biceps, noting that the shimmersilk that she was currently clothed in had been shredded. Now that she thought about it, the dress being offered might be a step up from what was left of her clothes. "May I at least clean myself up?" she asked as she accepted the dress, clutching it to her chest.

The Devaronian chuckled. "Sweetling, I think that would be a fine idea. I'll bring in the hose in just a moment."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Darth Lok'nar slid out from behind the ship controls, a grin on his usually somber face. "Now, children, I've brought you to Nar Shaddaa as you asked. Play nice and if you can't play nice then don't get caught. I have no intention of visiting the local lockup." He shot a look at the odd assemblage before him. When the Rattataki had barged onto his ship, he'd been amused. She'd radiated rage as a palpable fog and he'd drunk his fill on it until he was almost giddy. Her fight with Pierce had proved that she was formidable and barely civilized. Once it was clear, though, that she had no intention of stopping in her destructive march across his ship, he'd stepped in. It had been fun to watch her clawing at invisible hands as he'd finally force-choked her into unconsciousness. Tossing her into the engine room had been the best possible solution and one that had the added benefit to make Vette stomp around the ship in a huff.

That she'd somehow convinced Quinn to help her was an unexpected surprise. Though, and he preened a bit as he admitted it to himself, the deal he'd wrung out of the tattooed mercenary to allow Quinn and the rest of the Fury's crew help her in her rescue attempt would have made the late Darth Baras twitch with envy. She had put herself and the agent being rescued in his debt and a good Sith never forgot who owed him a favor.

"So, children, Jaesa and I will be at the Casino. This ship will leave from Nar Shaddaa in eighteen hours. Make the most of your time. If you are not at the spaceport waiting for me, I will leave without you. And then you can pay your way to track us down."

Vette shot him a puzzled look. "You're not coming with us, milord?"

Lok'nar chuckled, shaking his head. "I need a vacation, Vette. And Nar Shaddaa is a perfect spot for Jaesa and I to spend a little alone time. No, you all will be fine with your rescue operation without me." He straightened the collar of his cloak and started towards the exit, where his hooded bride waited. "Oh, and unless one of you wants to commune deeply with the dark side, do not disturb us."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"So, Blizz, what's the best way into that warehouse?" asked Jatisyc, crouching down so she could be more on a level with the Jawa. She hated looming over him—he was a member of her crew and that made him family and an equal. Besides, he was the one creature on the ship who seemed to love an explosion more than she did.

Blizz chittered happily. "Big boom," he suggested, waving his arms for emphasis. He loved when the Huntress came to him and was happiness personified that the Champion didn't mind him tinkering with the Mantis. "Blow hole in wall. Wall not protected. Wall come down. Big, big boom!"

Jatisyc chuckled, looking up at the assembled men and women around the holoterminal. There were a few more faces than usual—thanks to the early pick up of Torian and his Mandalorian brothers from Taris. She almost felt bad—they'd all been so excited about their hunt and planned it for so long—but it did mean that she had gotten a chance to meet the mythic Corridan and Jagger than Torian talked about. They certainly lived up to some of her expectations—they were both well-made warriors, sporting more than a few scars that just added to their attractiveness. From what Torian had admitted, they were both single—though if the looks of awe and downright hunger that Mako was shooting both men were any indication, neither man would be lonely for long on this trip. She glanced at Gault, shaking all thoughts of possible romantic liaisons on her ship from her mind. "And you're sure that the slavers have her in there?"

Gault nodded, tapping the image on the holoterminal to focus in on one part of the image. "Yup. Slavers in my day had a little more respect for the profession." He let out an exasperated breath as he continued, pointing at the image with one gloved finger. "But that section of the warehouse is Cartel property assigned to Toborro. He's a big shot—really mean and really rich, by all accounts. And he deals in slaves, like most Hutts." He tapped a datapad in his other hand, momentarily distracted. "Remind me to thank Mandalore—it was real nice of the Imperials to give us the master id codes so we could track the target's implants."

Jatisyc nodded. "Yeah, it'll come in handy. Now, remember, this is a retrieval mission. The target is a Cipher agent. What we know is that she's a Human, was last seen four days ago, and has intelligence that needs to be secured. She's undercover—so we have to assume that she's still using the persona of the 'Red Blade.'"

Mako raised a hand to get the Huntress's attention. "Um, Jat, not that I'm not totally gung ho for this mission but do we really want to mess with Imperial Intelligence again? I mean, last time they tried to kill us and that was when we were running jobs just to get into the Great Hunt."

Jatisyc chuckled. Trust Mako to remember that at this critical juncture. "Not much choice. Mandalore asked and I'm not gonna say no to my father."

Corridan shot a look at Torian, noting that the younger man's cheeks had flushed a bright pink with pride at her words. "You mind a couple of extra hands on this one? Since Jagger and I didn't get to bag any game, figure might as well help you bag some slavers."

Jatisyc glanced at Torian, obviously looking to her husband to see if he would agree. At his nod, she offered a brilliant smile to the two Mandalorians. "More the merrier, Corridan. It's a bit crowded but make yourself at home."

Mako shot up from where she'd been sitting, a grin splitting her face. "I'll be happy to get you two settled, if you like," she suggested, brown eyes sparkling.

Torian shook his head as he watched Jagger and Corridan flanking the cyborg as they wandered towards the crew quarters, all three deep in quiet conversation. "That can't be good."

"Ah, babe, you worry too much. Mako's in hog heaven. Gonna be hard breaking her off from them, though." She glanced back towards the crew area, a smirk on her face. "She has a thing for Mandos if you hadn't already noticed."

Torian chuckled. "Yeah. Noticed. Do you think we can find her?" He gestured to the holoimage of their target that still hovered above the holoterminal.

"No choice." Jatisyc straightened, rubbing at the small of her back. "We find her whole or in pieces, but we find her." She offered a lopsided grin at her husband, catching his gauntleted hand with her own. "Gonna be a few hours until we get to Nar Shaddaa. Why don't I show you how much I missed you until then?"

"Oya."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Yes, great Toborro. She's ready for transport. She's frozen and we'll be on our way in a few hours." He stroked a gloved hand down the carbonite, marveling as always that she looked so lifelike. It was no wonder that many Hutts hung the carbonite prisons on wall—it was instant art. Though he wasn't lying—he would have like to have kept this one for himself.

"Why the delay?" demanded Toborro over the holocommunicator, his rage palpable even from millions of light years away. The Hutt was used to getting what he wanted and dealt with difficulties rather badly. The Devaronian was the fourth person to hold this position in as many months—he was determined to outlive the position, unlike his predecessors.

The Devaronian swallowed the knot in his throat and stroked one gloved hand down his horn. "There were…complications. They're being dealt with as we speak." He cast a hurried glance towards the fracas still taking place down the hallway, hoping that the Hutt didn't hear the yelling and fighting that surrounded the slaver. Kidnapping and selling a pirate was one thing—dealing with her crew trying to get her back was not something he had planned on.

"I do not like complications. Get rid of them. The woman will cement our support with the Corellians." Toborro guffawed, clearly taken with his own brilliance. "Cheaply done and with great profit. Who knew the brave Cole Cantarus would be so easily bought with one pretty whore."

Thankfully Toborro ended the call then, allowing the Devaronian a chance to more thoroughly check on the status of his guards. It wasn't looking good. Every single one of his guards was down—either dead or unconscious. He really needed to start hiring a better class of thug. But, he hadn't made it this long in the business without thinking two steps ahead of the competition. The detonite attached with ease to the carbonite prison. "Stop!" he shouted, fists on his hips. "Unless you want the target of your rescue to become a massive carbonite puzzle." He held the detonator up above his head.

Malavai had held up a hand, his team halting in response. Getting Caer blown up wasn't part of the plan. And this would likely have been a far cleaner operation if, instead of a volatile Rattataki, they'd instead had the Emperor's Wrath and his apprentice. They just weren't used to working with people outside their usual team and the addition of the mercenary had thrown them off. The only way to salvage this might be to try diplomacy. "I'm sure that we can come to a mutually beneficial settlement. We just want the pirate," he motioned to the carbonite statue, edging closer. "Name your price." Greed might be the solution, he knew. Or at least he hoped. He had no intention of failing Caer again on this mission.

Kaliyo snarled, charging towards the Devaronian, rage filling her. "You're dead, freak!" she shouted, blaster ready to fire. She never got the chance, as Pierce pounced, arms like Mandalorian iron capturing her around the waist and lifting her from the ground, her arms pinned uselessly to her sides as he dragged her back. "Let go of me, you Nemoiidian baboon!" she shrieked at Pierce, kicking her legs against the tree trunks that supported Pierce.

"Easy, Kaliyo," warned Pierce, his eyes following Malavai as he grunted under the impacts of her armored boots. He saw what the medic was trying to do. He and Quinn didn't get along on a good day—as far as the ex-Black Ops soldier was concerned, Quinn had a pole rammed up his arse directly attached to the pilot's chair on the Wrath's ship. But he was smart—and he was devious. "Calm down," he ordered with a gruff rumble.

The Devaronian seemed to consider this, thumb stroking the detonator as he thought. "Ya know, I might take you up on that offer. But I'm not stupid enough to cross the Hutt." He grinned at Quinn, watching the dark-haired man deflate before his eyes. "What is she to you, anyway?"

Quinn stiffened. "You don't want to do this," he warned, heart sinking. This wasn't going well.

"Ah, but friend, I certainly do." A smirk crossed the Devaronian's face as he trailed his hands over the carbonite, caressing the curves hidden within. "She's a spitfire. I'll give you that," he leered.

"Ah, bollocks," muttered Pierce, suddenly realizing that the one he should have been worried about containing was Quinn, not Kaliyo, as the medic pulled his firearm from its holster and aimed it at the Devaronian's head.

"Take your hands off her." Quinn's voice was ground glass—sharp and cold.

"Quinn!" shouted Vette. In all the drama, no one had been paying attention to the guards they hadn't killed. One of the Gamorreans, a rather foul-smelling creature, now had Vette pinned to his chest, a blaster to her head.

The Devaronian giggled, which was a bit unnerving, considering that the alien held the controller to blow up a good bit of Nar Shaddaa real estate. "Oh, what fun. Did you fuck her? I hear she's excellent. Not that I ever partake of the merchandise, but I hear that she makes the prettiest scream when you whip her." The Devaronian was giddy at how the tables had turned. And even more so at the widened eyes that confronted him. "Oh, you didn't know? They made a holovid—of her 'interrogation' on Corellia. I knew I recognized her from somewhere. Didn't know they made pirates that soft and pretty."

Pierce glanced back at Vette, seeing the fear in the Twi'lek's eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic. He loosened his hold on Kaliyo, letting her feet hit the ground, as he prepared to make a mess. "Quinn—we got a bit of a situation, mate. Mind getting your head out of your arse?"

Quinn slid a glance at Pierce and Vette beyond, nodding minutely. "Give her to us and you can live," he ground out, holstering his pistol.

The Devaronian giggled. The high-pitched cackle seemed out of place against the demonic façade. "I'm going to live regard…" He began.

The blaster bolt smashed into the Devaronian's skull, spattering bits of brain all over the carbonite behind him. As the horned alien slumped to the ground, Quinn dove, catching the detonator and cradling it. The assembled Imperials, thieves, and mercenaries drew a breath of relief.

That sigh of relief was immediately devoured by the rumbling explosion that destroyed the wall beside them, filling the warehouse with smoke and debris and armor-clad Mandalorians.

Vette's scream indicated what everyone had already figured out. Hell had broken loose.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	13. Carbonite

Author's Note: Yay! You guys are still here! I have so appreciated the support and encouragement from you, my wonderful readers. And I am especially grateful to Eri'anya and Aela Darkstar-you ladies have had a HUGE impact on this story-and I can't even begin to say thank you enough. Virtual snickerdoodles for those who recognize the scene that is echoed from one of the original Star Wars trilogy-I can't claim credit for the idea but I loved it and ran with it. Thank you again-you guys are awesomeness personified and no writer could ask for a better and more compelling audience. Oh-and for those of you who might be a little sad that there is no smut in this chapter, PM me and I will send you an outtake scene that I deemed a little too risqué for that features Mako and some hot Mandalorian shower time. But, please, only those above age in your own country and those who won't get in trouble...I don't want anyone's parents hunting me down for corrupting you. Now, on with the show.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Twelve: Carbonite

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Mako, contact Mandalore. Advise that the package is safe," advised Jatisyc to the holographic image of the slicer floating above the holocommunicator, sure that the little cyborg aboard her ship would do as asked.

"Got it, Jat. I'm sure he'll be pleased as always," grinned the slicer. "Want me to tell him anything else?"

"Tell him that Jagger and Corridan of Clan Ordo were invaluable help." Jatisyc ended the transmission, turning back to deal with the prisoners they'd acquired. Apparently she and her crew weren't the only ones after the "Red Blade." The carbonite statue still stood nearby, its contents still encapsulated within. As a medic, Jatisyc did not relish the idea of releasing the woman within in a dank, dirty warehouse surrounded by quite possibly the most unusual cast of charcters she'd seen in a while. And for a Mandalorian, that was saying something.

"Okay, folks. Listen up." She didn't have to raise her voice—it carried a note of command that couldn't be taught and it earned the attention of everyone there. "Nar Shaddaa security will be here in a few minutes. Last I checked, you still get a holocall when they arrest you—I suggest that you make it count." She motioned for her team to start moving towards the shuttle, a gravsled allowing the Mandalorians ease in moving the imprisoned Imperial agent and her heavy carbonite prison.

"No!" cried Quinn, bolting from where he'd been kneeling towards the departing carbonite statue before he was pushed back and down by one of the armored Mandalorians. "You can't take her—please!" He struggled under the heavy boot that landed squarely in the center of his back, pinning her down but allowing him to still watch the slow progression of the party towards the shuttle.

Pierce growled, lifting his head to glare at the bounty hunter and her crew. "This is complete bollocks." He slowly got to his feet, dirt and grime staining the knees of his trousers and his wrists still bound behind him by the binders that had been slapped on him in the melee. "You can't take her. She's ours. She's coming with us," he announced.

Jatisyc chuckled, sliding off her helmet. "Really? And who might you be? The Emperor in disguise?" She stepped closer to the mountain of a man, ignoring the tension that vibrated off Torian, Jagger and Corridan. They didn't want her anywhere near the other group—not least because she was Mandalore's adopted daughter and soon to give their leader a grandchild.

Pierce let his gaze sweep over the woman in front of him. She was a warrior. Every inch of her armor was battered and blaster-marked and beautiful. This wasn't some diva from the upper crust—this was a woman who got her hands dirty. He felt his lust spike just a hair and tamped it down. She wasn't his—she clearly was one of the Mandos. And he wasn't going to be idiot enough to piss off a bunch of armed Mandos by disrespecting their woman. "She's his," he admitted, nodding his head towards the still struggling Quinn. He had to give the Captain credit—Quinn wasn't giving up like Pierce thought he would. "We're rescuing her. So back off."

Jatisyc considered this for a moment, her forefinger tapping her lips. "Hmmm…just a moment." She turned to Corridan and Torian, getting a microscopic shrug from the two men—it was her call. Oh, well. Life had been getting a little boring. Might as well spice things up. "Let's bring 'em with us. We'll figure this all out out of range of Hutt Security. And, Gault, bring the dead Devaronian guy."

Gault groaned, shaking his head from where he was crouched next to the body that he'd shot, looting anything off the corpse. Stealing from the dead was one thing, especially when it came to slavers, but he drew the line at keeping them for later like last night's leftovers. "Hell no, Jat. I am not bringing that slaver on board with us. We'll never get the stench out of the ship."

Jatisyc chuckled. "Gault, come on. He might come in handy. Think about a possible bounty. Credits, my man." She patted him on the shoulder as she passed, knowing she had said the magic words. "All right, people. We're moving." She grabbed the pull-bar for the gravsled, dragging it behind her towards the shuttle that they'd piloted down minutes before. "Asses and elbows inside in five, people, or we leave you here."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Jatisyc fiddled with the carbonite suspension tool that attached to her gauntlet, fingers sure as she tweaked the electronics housed within. It had been a gift from Christa, her handler for the Great Hunt, and she'd cherished it ever since. It certainly had served her well, giving her the option to capture rather than kill her bounties—usually her preference except in extreme circumstances. But she also knew that the people who got frozen didn't always make it out of carbonic suspension. And the sooner that one got released from carbonite, the better-which brought her back to the issue of the carbonite block now hanging in her cargo bay.

Ordinarily, she'd just drop off the block and be done with it. But there were some very specific instructions attached to this assignment. Namely that she was to contact her adopted father for further instructions. Since it was the Mandalore who had hired the bounty, he would decide what happened now and he had yet to respond to Mako's request for more information.

"Are you going to let us go?"

Jatisyc looked up, meeting the inquisitive gaze of the Twi'lek that they'd brought aboard. She figured it was a fair question—some in her profession would already have had the girl servicing the crew and having her value appraised as a slave. Jatisyc wasn't like that but she understood the apprehension. "I will. Though I might be more amenable to the idea if I had a bit more information. Care to elaborate on any of this for me?" Jatisyc set down her tools on the workbench and sat down on a crate, motioning for the Twi'lek to do the same. "Let's start with your name. You've got one, right?"

Vette sighed, dropping down onto the shipping crate that Jatisyc had motioned her to. "It's Vette. My name is Vette." She stared down at the binders that still encircled her wrists. Kaliyo and the crew of the Wrath's ship still was, for the most part, locked below decks.

Jatisyc chuckled. "I'm Jatisyc, Vette, and it's nice to make your acquaintance. Now, mind telling me what you all were doing barging into my rescue op?" A smirk tugged at Jatisyc's lips as the Champion crossed her arms over her cloth-covered chest. She'd stripped off most of her armor earlier, leaving her in snug pants and a sleeveless shirt while she prowled the Mantis. Somehow, it didn't make Mandalore's daughter look any less formidable.

Vette shrugged. "Trying to do a rescue op of our own, I guess you could say. Quinn knows the Red Blade—they're lovers," she added, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Anyway, when we found out that she had been kidnapped, we went to get her."

Jatisyc arched an eyebrow. It fit with what her other prisoners had said. And she usually could sense deception—it was one of those nifty little tricks that certainly helped her in this business. "Say I believe you—what then?"

Vette's face started to fill with hope. "Really? You believe me?"

Jatisyc nodded, shifting on the crate. It really wasn't the most comfortable seat in the ship but it would do for now. "Yes. I still can't give her to you—not without first confirming with the party the bounty is for. Professional responsibility."

Vette nodded, her face sobering. "I guess I understand." Her boot toed at the grated floor of the cargo hold. "But could you let Quinn see her? The guy usually is the biggest prig in the world but he really cares for her." She didn't add that Pierce and Kaliyo had, in no uncertain terms, told Quinn to get his head out of his arse or Pierce would take care of it for him. Both Pierce and Kaliyo had a low tolerance for moping and Quinn was showing a strange knack for it. "He's a medic and I know that he's worried about her."

Jatisyc considered that. She and Mako were the medics onboard the Mantis, Mako having taught Jatisyc almost everything that the bounty hunter knew about healing. It might be nice to have another set of eyes take a look at her. "When we unfreeze her from carbonite then I'll let him be here. Fair enough?"

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Jatisyc! Kandosi, my Champion and my daughter! You found her!" Mandalore grinned, his smile splitting his wrinkled dark face. The man still projected a fearsome power that would rival any member of the Dark Council, in part because he had fought and earned that power—not been gifted by some metaphysical lottery.

Jatisyc nodded, fists on her hips. "Yes, Mandalore. Where do you want us to take her?"

Mandalore, his image flickering above the holoterminal, seemed to ponder that question. "My old friend who asked me to do this said that she should be delivered to her crew into the custody of Kaliyo Djannis. And my friend assures me that any and all bounties and charges against Mistress Kaliyo are dismissed."

Jatisyc smirked. "Good of him. Then it's convenient that she is aboard my ship." She caught the surprise that flickered over her adopted father's face. "Thank you, Mandalore. Oh, and remind me after this to come visit you."

Mandalore chuckled. "I'm on Corellia, daughter, leading our forces. Come find me when you can." He closed out the communication, his holoimage flickering away.

Jatisyc leaned forward, fists braced on the holoterminal as she pondered this turn of events. Glancing to her right, she saw Mako, the young cyborg sporting an almost euphoric glow and wet, slicked back hair. "Go get our guests, Mako. Time to find out what Miss Djannis wants us to do with the package."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Unfreezing someone from being encased in carbonite isn't all that difficult, especially on a carbonite imprisonment unit like the one holding Caer. Punch a few buttons and the unit takes care of the process. The real trick is dealing with the person who comes out of the carbonite shell. Anyone who ever unfroze someone knew that carbonite sickness was no laughing matter.

Jatisyc glanced at the assembled Imperials and mercenaries, motioning Quinn forward with a wave of her hand. Since Djannis was the intended recipient of the carbonite-imprisoned Imperial agent, the Champion had brought all of her prisoners up from the holding cell. "I understand you're a medic."

Quinn nodded, his expression pensive. "I am. As I understand you are as well."

Jatisyc accepted this with a nod. "Good. Mako and I could probably handle this, but it always helps to have another hand on duty for this." Turning to the assembled gathering, she shooed them back a ways. "Gault, you have the blankets?"

The Devaronian nodded. "Ready and waiting, Jat."

"Then let's do this," muttered Jatisyc, keying in the universal unlock code for the carbonite shell. Moments later the shell started to heat, glowing an angry red-orange and hissing with escaping gases. They all watched as, slowly, the woman within was released and crumpled to the deck in a shivering heap.

"Your show, Imperial," advised Jatisyc, motioning Quinn forward.

Malavai dashed to the young woman on the deck, his hands pulling her quaking form into his lap. "Caer. Caer, can you hear me?" he murmured, lips ghosting over her forehead. His hand caught her wrist, fingers pressed to the fluttering pulse point. Good-it was getting stronger.

A soft, rattling breath was his answer. "I can't see," came the plaintive response as fingers latched onto the front of his shirt. She moved closer, as much as she was able as she fought the sluggishness of her limbs. Everything hurt to move.

Quinn nodded against her head, his hands stroking down her bare arms. The blanket that suddenly dropped on top of them made him pause but he looked up quickly, catching the nod from the Devaronian who quickly stepped back. Wrapping the blanket around Caer, he continued stroking her, gentling warmth back into her. "Your eyesight will return in time, Caer." His voice was barely a whisper, the sound choked with emotion.

Suddenly the woman in his arms stiffened. "Where am I?" she rasped.

"Safe," promised Quinn, holding back the instinct to cuddle her tighter to him. He hoped he was right. He was getting damned tired of letting down the woman in his arms.

"Who are you?" asked the woman in his arms, her fingers ghosting up to his face to stroke the contours of his countenance for reassurance. She could guess-not many men held her with such care. But she needed the reassurance. Though she was fairly certain that the man holding her so gently could not be the man she wanted it to be-not after what he had said on Hutta.

For Malavai, the question almost broke him. She didn't recognize him—her senses were so murky after the carbonite—it wasn't that uncommon. He should have expected that—but it still slammed him in the gut like a raging Bantha. Lowering his head, his mouth pressed to the shell of her ear, he took a breath. "Someone who loves you."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	14. Mandalorian Playtime

Author's Note: Thank you for not running away. I appreciate you sticking with me through this story. I could not ask for a better audience and, if you hadn't already guessed, this story is kind of interactive in that I do take your reviews to heart and use your insights to improve the story. Only problem is that it took me longer to write this chapter and, for that, I apologize. I promise to work on getting the story chapters out at a more regular rate once again.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Thirteen: Mandalorian Playtime

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Someone who loves me?" croaked Caer, lifting her head blindly in the direction of the voice. The anger rose from deep within—the place that she kept every hurt done to her—and her fist followed, smashing into Quinn's face with satisfying force.

Quinn cupped his nose as the previously passive Intelligence agent scuttled sightlessly away from him at remarkable speed. His voice, muffled by his hand as he tried to contain the blood burbling from his now damaged nose, was still soft. Pleading. "Caer. Please. You don't understand."

Caer cocked her sightless head, even as her hands scrabbled over the grated flooring to find an escape. "Really? Last I checked it wasn't you and it meant nothing," she ground out, still moving away until she collided with armor plated legs. She fell back onto her rear, one hand going to her now aching forehead. "Stay away from me, Malavai," she warned in his general direction before starting, once again, her slow unseeing retreat, though now it was aided by a clearly perturbed Kaliyo who had reached down and picked up the agent from the ground after being collided with.

Quinn sat back on his heels, his shoulders sagging as everything crashed down. He let his hand fall away from his nose, the blood having slowed to a sluggish trickle though the shirt he wore would likely be ruined. He didn't care.

"Quinn, you are bollocks with women," muttered Pierce, handing the shorter man a cloth to clean himself with. The ex-black ops soldier could sympathize. It wasn't like Pierce was much better with women—bedding them, yes, but courting them, no.

Quinn accepted the cloth, wiping at his face. "Utter bollocks indeed," he agreed quietly as he slowly got to his feet.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Want me to kill him for you?" offered Kaliyo as she leaned against the bulkhead in studied nonchalance. The Rattattaki mercenary had dragged her boss/charge/friend into a compartment off the main hallway of the lower deck—it looked to be someone's bedroom but they weren't there now. Therefore it was a perfect place for a little girl talk.

Caer chuckled, though the sound was dry and halting. It felt like she'd swallowed glass—supposedly it would fade with time. Yet another symptom of carbonite sickness. "There's no point. There's nothing between us. He told me that on Hutta." She blinked-her sight was, slowly, starting to return. She could now see shapes and colors, though no definition. She'd never had carbonite sickness before but the symptoms matched. Nothing to be done but ride it out. "Are we on Corellia yet?"

Kaliyo shook her head, lavender eyes assessing the Human woman before her. Sometimes her agent's lack of continuity worried her. The Human could skip topics like no one she'd met before. "No. We grabbed your carbonite-encased ass off Nar Shaddaa. Why?"

Caer frowned and shook her head, instantly regretting it. She needed fluids and probably something broth-like for food—solids were not recommended, she remembered from her training. Seven days of beatings before being thrown into a carbonite containment unit had clearly not left her at her best. Which made her even prouder for having been able to give Malavai a bloody nose. But back to her current situation—not completing the transaction on Corellia wasn't acceptable. It simply wouldn't do. The buyer, Cole Cantarus, was expecting her as a present/purchase from Toborro. If she didn't come as expected, then it all was worth nothing. She wouldn't let it mean nothing. She couldn't. She had to find out why the Corellians and Isotope-5 were so important. "Kaliyo, put me back in the carbonite."

"Hell no, Agent," replied the Rattattaki with a growl. Yet again her agent was showing a remarkable lack of self-preservation. That might have been attractive to an Imperial, but Kaliyo found it the height of stupidity. Kaliyo still hadn't forgiven SCORPIO for simply standing by and watching—well, recording and documenting for future review was how the 'bot explained it—while the mercenaries on Corellia raped and tortured Caer. Though, once the android had let Kaliyo see the 'vid so the Rattattaki could hunt down the men in question, they had been better. "You're not going into that shit again. What, are we going to mail you to the bad guys with a bow?"

Caer rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. The blood flow had returned to her limbs and the shakes had diminished sufficiently that she didn't shiver constantly. "If we must. This is my job," she reminded Kaliyo, pushing a hand through her auburn hair. It wasn't contained like usual—the Devaronian had thought that she would look far more fetching to her new owner if she looked slightly untamed. "At least tell me that we have the Devaronian." It was half plea and half question.

Kaliyo shifted her weight. Rubbing one gauntleted hand against the back of her neck she offered a smirk. "You could say that, I suppose. Though he's missing a sizeable amount of brain matter."

Caer groaned, letting her head drop into her hands. The day just kept getting better and better. Well, really, the month. Between having the best sex of her life with a man that she had been half-in-love-with since her Academy days, being told by that same man that he wouldn't have shagged her if he hadn't been drugged to him telling her that he loved her while she was still blind and shivering with carbonite sickness—well, the rollercoaster of emotions was going full force. She wiped her hands down her face and blew out a cleansing breath. She had to get control or this was all for shit. "Brilliant. Just brilliant. And just where am I going to find a Devaronian slaver to bring my carbonite coffin to Cole Cantarus?"

Kaliyo, for the first time during the whole conversation, chuckled. "Now there we have a solution," she winked.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"I won't do it! I haven't slaved in years and even then I plead the ignorance of youth!" Gault backed away from the determined women slowly advancing on him. He didn't particularly like the playful way that Kaliyo handled her vibroblade nor the glint in the agent's eye. There was a reason that he did not mess with intelligence—they tended to have the loons and the true believers in their ranks. And he was beginning to think that the two females stalking him proved that to a T.

From above Jatisyc chuckled. She had shucked her armor and now lounged in sleep pants and a sleeveless shirt against the railing of the upper tier—the perfect spot to see the cargo hold and the drama below. It was her usual perch to watch Torian practice his morning exercises—her favorite pastime during breakfast, she admitted to herself as she rubbed absently at the tensing muscles in her lower back. A slow purr escaped her lips as the strong, sure hands of Torian Cadera plucked hers from her own back and took up the task of rubbing the tension out. Her head fell back against his chest, eyes closing. "You're gonna have to stop that, Torian. Or everyone might think I'm not so scary," she warned, leaning into her husband's lean frame.

Torian grinned against her dark auburn hair, breathing in the unique scent of his woman mixed with the scent of detonite. Nothing better, he decided. "He agree yet?" he asked, motioning to the scene playing out below them with a lift of his chin.

Jatisyc cracked open one eye, tracking the progress below. "No, but he will. For all his bluster he can't resist a damsel in distress. Or, more precisely, the credits it nets." She let a sigh escape as Torian found a particularly stubborn knot and smoothed it out with a calloused thumb. "I've already had Mako lay in a course for Corellia. The Imps sent a request for our services in dealing with the troubles there—we're going to be busy." She let her eyes wander around the interior of the Mantis—the once-stolen ship had definitely become her home.

Torian's hand curled possessively around her waist, pulling her back to him as his hand splayed over her belly. Beneath his palm he could imagine that he could feel the life within her belly. "Not so busy that we forget what's important."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Hold still. You're worse than Jat, and that's saying something," muttered Mako as she inspected the damage from Caer's punch. Mako had long ago found that healers tended to be the absolute worst patients. More than once the cyborg had threatened to have Skadge restrain her so that Mako could treat Jatisyc's bumps and bruises. And that was before there was even a baby to think about. Mako winced at the thought of the screeching to come.

Malavai huffed and nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Thank you," he offered in a low voice, eyes following her movements as the hunter's medic prepared a kolto bandage. Quinn knew that everything the cyborg did was with care and precision but it still irked him not to be treating himself. He'd done a fair enough job of it in the past, he thought. "I'd do it myself but this one," he thumbed at Pierce, the brawny Imperial offering an insolent grin in response, "didn't think I could do a proper job."

Mako shrugged, glancing towards where Jagger and Corridan were currently waiting on the low couches outside the medbay, waiting for their little cyborg to come play again. The two Imperials were interrupting some quality playtime and she wanted to be done playing healer to Quinn and Pierce. Forcing a smile, she returned her attention to the men in front of her. "Understandable. It's not easy to self-heal, Captain." She pressed the bandage onto his face, her fingers tingling with the antibiotic and the painkillers that accompanied the healing patch. "There you go."

Pierce stepped forward, looking down at the work. "Nicely done, girl. You ever decide that you want off this ship, I know of a few medcenters that would be lucky for you. Damned medics I've dealt with have bollocks notion of healing."

Mako chuckled. Well if that didn't just beat all—she was being offered a job recommendation. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you. Now, you two get on out of here. I have some Mandalorian playtime scheduled." She quickly rose from the stool she'd been sitting on to hurry over to the Mandalorians, who pulled her down between them amidst her giggles.

Pierce's expression was almost wistful as he followed the Captain out of the medbay. "Never wished I was a Mandalorian before now."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	15. Negotiations

Author's Note: Once again I apologize for the long wait in updating—I had a job interview and life kind of intervened. Oh, and the patch dropped and I got distracted running my toons to 55. Or, more precisely, I got distracted by healing in BGs and flashpoints on my smuggler—I am catnip to marauders, apparently. Yeah, I'm hopeless. But, I'm back and you have a new chapter chock full of goodness and badness in equal parts—though the badness is hopefully good in its badness. Oh, well, you know what I mean. Which reminds me (*gulp*) that my husband pointed out that some of you wonderful readers might actually PLAY in the SWTOR world. In that case, if you're ever on the Shadowlands server and see a smuggler named Brigitt—well, that's me. Feel free to give me a wave if you see me—and if you're Empire that day, I totally forgive you for killing me while I'm healing. It's all good. Now, on with the show!

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Fourteen: Negotiations

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Gault stared down at the dead body of the Devaronian slaver they'd brought from Nar Shaddaa. The body wasn't getting any fresher—and it didn't help that Gault recognized the reprobate decaying on the cargo hold floor. This particular specimen was one that Gault had, once upon a time, had a business arrangement with. But that business partnership had soured decades ago—leaving Gault with no particular guilt or angst at having blown the brains out of his fellow Devaronian. In fact, it had been somewhat cathartic. "So let me get this straight—I want to be clear about this, with witnesses," he added, motioning to Jatisyc and Torian, who had moved onto the steps and were seated side-by-side to watch the show. "I pose as Baachiatus"—he toed his boot at the corpse on the ground—"and you not only expunge every crime I've ever created but you'll also remove all record of anyone on this ship. Is that right?"

Caer nodded, having settled herself on a crate that looked suspiciously of Imperial origin. She had dealt with enough pirates, thieves, and bounty hunters, though, to know that no one was truly clean. And it was always best to mistrust those who presented themselves as spotless. "Yes," she confirmed with a nod.

Gault's eyes narrowed, his arms crossed over his still-armored chest. He rarely removed his chestplate, as if some part of him was always ready for someone to shoot him in the heart. It explained why the conman had lived so long. "How?"

Caer shot a look at Kaliyo, noting that the Rattattaki had returned to cleaning her rifle. Her mercenary and friend wasn't getting involved. The agent shrugged. That suited Caer just fine in this instance. Time to lay her cards on the table. "Have you ever heard of the Black Codex?"

Gault snorted, head thrown back as he let out a guffaw. "That's a myth. It doesn't exist."

Caer's expression was enigmatic. But her eyes spoke volumes. "Not exactly. I have it. It's real." She hopped down from the crate, thankful that Jatisyc had been willing to lend her some clothing that actually covered her body. Even though the agent needed the dress she'd fallen out of carbonite in, she still didn't care for it. She chuckled at the disbelief on the faces around her—well, except on Kaliyo's. Her partner in crime knew that she was telling the truth. "Would you like a demonstration?"

Nods all around sealed the deal.

"Then may I have use of your holoterminal, Huntress?"

With a nod, Jatisyc led the way back to the upper deck and the holoterminal. The space was soon cramped, all interested parties wanting to see exactly what Caer had up her sleeve. Jatisyc typed in the unlock codes for the holoterminal and stepped back from the device, sighing as Torian's body pressed against her back, his arm pressed across her middle. "Go for it, Agent."

Caer nodded her thanks and stepped to the holoterminal. She started typing quickly, eyes dancing over the keypad as she keyed in a long string of code. A moment later and the holoterminal sparked to life, the image of SCORPIO standing in front of them. "Good morning, SCORPIO. Initiating Black Codex protocol . Code to be changed to one I key in at the end of this communication. Is that understood."

The smooth, coldly modulated femmebot inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Understood, Agent. Initiating Black Codex protocol per your request. Your request?"

Caer glanced at Gault, the Devaronian stroking his chin as he stepped forward. "Ready to believe in a myth?" She grinned wickedly, leaning towards the holoimage of her android crew member. "Expunge any and all record, in Republic, Imperial, and any criminal or corporate record, of Tyresius Lokai, also known as Gault Renault. And do the same for all crew and passengers on the 'Mantis.' I will give you twenty seconds to scan biologics to confirm identities and complete the task."

Silence reigned as SCORPIO nodded. "Task complete. I have been ordered by Doctor Lokin to remind you he expects a full report upon completion of this mission."

Caer nodded. She outranked Lokin but he had become a mentor to her. As such, she deferred to him on certain matters such as protocol. After all, her ship was, for all intents and purposes, the last remnant of Imperial Intelligence in its "purest" form. She had evolved a good working relationship with the doctor—after all, the mad scientist on her ship knew a lot of secrets. And secrets were the life blood of any agent. Lokin would listen and not judge her too harshly for the mission and its fallout, she thought. "Very well. Tell him that I look forward to it."

SCORPIO nodded again. "End transmission."

The holoterminal shuddered to silence and Caer straightened. Glancing at Mako, she motioned the slicer towards her computers. "Want to check to see if it's all gone?"

Mako scampered down the hallway to the bridge and the computer that she considered as near a baby as she had. Moments later she whooped with joy. "It's all gone! No bounties on us! No bad publicity. Nothing. It's like it was never there." The cyborg crept back, respect and a little fear on her face as she looked at Caer. "Can you put it back just like you took it away?"

Caer nodded, a tiny smirk escaping onto her lips. "Yes. Or destroy someone with it. I've been on the receiving end of its power—I had my identity known to every organization I had ever crossed or worked with. Part of the reason that I have this is to keep it from falling into the wrong hands," she admitted quietly.

Gault gawked at the holoterminal, not quite believing what Mako had confirmed. He was…free? Turning amber eyes on the spy, he swallowed visibly. "You do realize that I find you scary right now?"

Caer offered a careless shrug but she didn't deny his words. "Be glad I'm on your side, Gault," she reminded with a smile that didn't quite reach her green eyes. "So, do we have a deal?"

Gault glanced around the group, seeing the looks of understanding on Jatisyc and Torian as well as Mako. He had the ability to remove every false accusation and trail from their lives. It was too tempting an offer. And who was he to ignore temptation? It went against his very nature, one might say. "We have a deal."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Caer sat on the ground in front of the carbonite chamber. The last time she'd entered it, she'd been certain that she would never see freedom and that no one would ever find her. Then she'd been rescued by an ungainly assortment of Imperials and independent contractors from the brink of slavery. And, now, she was about to enter into the chamber willingly; within an hour she would allow the freezing process to claim her again.

Sometimes she wondered if her brain had truly been damaged like Kaliyo sometimes suggested.

The clearing of a throat drew her attention from the chamber that would hold her for the remainder of the trip to Corellia. She glanced up, stiffening as she realized that it was Malavai. While she wasn't still angry at her ex-lover, she did wonder what he wanted. He wasn't the type to be objectively cruel, she knew. Absently she thought that his nose looked better—the swelling had definitely gone down and he'd cleaned the blood off. Clearly he'd gotten hold of some kolto—the bruise was barely visible. Part of her instantly wished that she'd hit him harder—so that the bruise would last longer. "What do you want, Malavai?" she asked, her voice tired and cracking.

Quinn glanced behind himself, confirming there was no one about. Rubbing the back of his neck, he took a breath as he paused in the doorframe of the cargo hold before stepping through. The section of the hold they were in was closest to the engines and a steady low thrum filled the slightly humid air. Between its distance from the main living quarters and the noise, they were ensured privacy. "May I speak with you, Caer?"

Caer shrugged, already curling into herself, arms going around her knees and chin resting on her knees. "Never could stop you from talking when you wanted to, Malavai," she admitted quietly. She turned her green-eyed gaze back to the carbonite chamber. The chamber itself was one of the newer models on the market—less likely to cause the contained person to die in midshipment. On the whole, that was a good thing. She'd seen far too much death, in her opinion. "Your nose looks better," she offered, a smile tugging at her lips.

Quinn touched his nose, wincing at the still healing bruises. "Quite. You pack quite a wollop, Caer." The words were said with a wry smile and a touch of admiration, his blue eyes watching her. Ever since their less than stellar reunion following her reanimation from carbonite hibernation they'd studiously avoided each other. It wasn't easy—the ship wasn't large, after all. "Kaliyo mentioned your plan."

Caer's eyes cut to him. "And?"

Quinn swallowed. "Is it wise for you to put yourself in harm's way again? So soon after your ordeal on Nar Shaddaa?" He waited for the explosion and frowned when it didn't come. His eyes narrowed as he watched her closer. The girl he'd known at the Academy and the woman he'd worked with on Hutta would have argued at his questioning her plan.

Caer's expression had softened considerably. "I know Kaliyo is worried but I'm a big girl." A smile tugged on her lips. "Besides, nothing happened on Nar Shaddaa that isn't solved with nutrition bars and kolto patches," she answered blithely, rising to her feet. She wore the dress that she had been issued on Nar Shaddaa and straightened the shimmersilk as best she could. At least the ship's droid had managed to get out the grime before she wore it again.

Quinn understood her—better than she might believe. If she needed to hold onto normal, he wouldn't force her to destroy it. "I feel that I owe you an apology."

Caer's smile faded and her expression shuttered. "Nothing to apologize for, Malavai." She stepped closer to the machine that would freeze her. "I think everything that needed to be said was said. Don't you?" She turned to face him, every bit the image of a professional spy. Nothing shown that didn't need to be shown for the purpose of the mission.

Quinn blew out an exasperated breath and shook his head. "No. I forgot how pigheaded you are." He muttered under his breath, shoving one hand through his hair as he glanced down at the grated floor. She wasn't making this easy on him. Bloody brilliant.

Caer smirked. "No less than you. Who do you think I learned that particular trait from, oh my Captain?" she asked sweetly. "So, what is it that you feel we needed to speak of? Your realization that the only way you would ever touch me was under the influence of some alien potion?" She crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her hip.

Quinn stalked forward, blue eyes narrowed. He stopped just bare of filling the space of her body, crowding her backwards. "Idiot girl. Do you think that I would have gone to all this trouble if I didn't care about you?" The rage crackled beneath the surface of his eyes, filling the air with energy. "If I didn't love you, I wouldn't have charged across the galaxy with your Rattattaki and Pierce and Vette. I can think of damned finer company to spend a trip with."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you are bollocks with girls?" She breathed, eyes wide.

Quinn growled, dragging her to him. "Never heard that before," he snarked as his lips closed over hers.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

The office of Cole Cantarus was nice as offices went. As the head of CorSec and acting head of the Republic government, he had assumed the old prime minister's office and quarters. And his collection of holorecordings—including ones that had been seized by the Imperials from Corellians before Darth Decimus was killed by the Republic forces. That had been where he'd first seen her.

The vid had been brutal. Clearly the woman in the holorecording was being interrogated and brutalized—though the imperial note attached to the file had stated that the men in the vid had been "dealt with." He was glad—no other woman should have to endure the abuse that the woman in the vid did.

That being said, he hadn't been able to stop watching. Something about her had captivated him—made him want her. He'd taken to watching the vid each night before bed and stroking himself to completion while he watched the thugs do things to her that Cole would have never dreamed of doing. He had to have her. A few discreet inquiries and he'd learned that she was a pirate who'd been detained by a rogue terrorist organization. The Red Blade.

Then, as if by magic, a representative of the Hutt Cartel had contacted him with a business proposition. The man, a Rodian who spoke little Basic, told him that the Hutt Cartel wanted his planet's help. They wanted to utilize Corellia's skills in the shipbuilding industry to incorporate something called Isotope-5 for space travel and weapon use. They promised him that they would give him anything he wanted. Anything. The request for a woman—the woman from the vid—was off his tongue before conscious thought even made an appearance.

Moments later the deal was struck and Corellia had sold his beloved Corellia's help to the Hutts in return for possession of an elusive pirate queen. Cole couldn't help but feel that it was a well-struck bargain as he rode the elevator down to where his guards waited to escort him to the spaceport. He'd just learned that the package, accompanied by a Hutt emissary named Baachiatus, had arrived in one of the hangers. He stifled the impulse to rub his hands together with glee.

The automated driver of his hovercar brought the vehicle to a halt at the spaceport. One of the perks of the job, he'd found. He had dispensed with his aides for this trip—it was a personal venture, after all. Not exactly part of his official duties as the new prime minister of Corellia under the interim Republic government. Climbing out of the car, he strode through the spaceport, noting the changes. There were still Republic soliders in the spaceport, but nowhere near the numbers that had been there during the days leading up to the death of Darth Decimus. Ignoring the armored troops, he headed to the hangar detailed in the holotransmission he'd received. Palm pressed to the door panel, he watched it slide open and hurried within.

The carbonite block was standing surrounded by Mandalorians, it looked like. The Devaronian—he'd not actually spoken with Baachiatus but knew the alien by reputation—preened beside the carbonite, stroking his curving black horns. And the block—vapor skated off the molded exterior, showing that the woman encased was the same woman who haunted Cole's dreams.

Oh, it was going to be a good day.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	16. Onomatophobia

Author's Note: So, no hate mail after the last chapter so I'm feeling positive about this story. Though, and I do feel more than moderately guilty, I must admit that I'm taking huge liberties with the NPC Cole Cantarus—he's important on the Republic storyline side on Corellia and actually is not the sicko I'm painting him as. That being said, this story is for fun and since I'm already taking liberties elsewhere, why should Corellia be any different? On with the show!

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Fifteen: Onomatophobia

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Gault's eyes widened as he read the deal requiring the authorization of the sitting prime minister of one of the Republic's core worlds. The Hutt Cartel, in as flowery and hard to understand language as possible (they'd switched between Huttese and Basic halfway through the contract—clever, he admitted to himself), had ensured that with Cantarus's acceptance of payment in the form of the "Red Blade" that the Hutt Cartel now had sole oversight and managing control of all Corellian industry and shipbuilding. Glancing up from the holopad to the giddy prime minister standing in front of the carbonite encased agent he got the sincere feeling that Cole Cantarus had no clue what he'd signed himself and his planet over for.

"Are we done?" asked Cole, stroking one gloved hand down the carbonite, lust in his blue eyes. He couldn't wait to have her—he'd waited this long, though—he could wait a bit longer, he supposed. But he craved to see the woman within the box, as it were.

Gault swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. He really did not like Baachiatus now—well, hadn't liked the swine for more than forty years, but he really did not like the slaver now that he had to pretend to be him. "I believe so," he answered, his voice assuming the nasal caste that had distinguished Baachiatus from many other Devaronians. He shivered involuntarily at the thought of having to mimic that the other Devaronian's disturbingly high pitched cackle—a particular quirk of the dead man. "Do you have transport prepared? The guards stay with the package until delivery and transport is completed as per the agreement," he reminded, waving his hands airily at the Mandalorians nearby.

Cole nodded absently. "Of course." He waved an astromech over, issuing hushed directions to the little droid before it hurried off. "And you promised her control word. The one that will make her obey me," he reminded, barely taking his eyes off the carbonite.

Gault gaped and then quickly snapped his jaw shut. Control word? "It will be sent to you once I leave atmo," he adlibbed. "We wouldn't want you thinking that arresting me would void this contract with the Cartel." He offered his most charming, yet malevolent, grin at the human, watching the minor cringe that Cantarus was quick to cover up.

Cole chuckled, the crows feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He shoved one hand back through his dirty blonde hair, giving the air of an errant schoolboy. Were Cole not buying another human, he might have seemed charming to the Devaronian. "Don't quite trust me yet, Baachiatus?"

Gault offered a smirk. "I trust no one. That's why I'm still alive." He glanced at the Mandalorians, nodding at the helmeted Torian, Corridan and Jagger. "Gentlemen, return here upon completion of the transfer." With that, Gault headed back into the Mantis—suddenly feeling the overriding urge to hit the 'fresher to wash off the grime of dealing in human trafficking. Even Gault had standards.

Alone with the carbonite block and Prime Minister Cantarus, the Mandalorians quietly conferred over coms, unknown to Cantarus. That was one of the advantages of always wearing their helmets. As the astromech reappeared with a gravsled in tow, the Mandalorians lifted the block onto it and waited. Finally, once Cantarus was ready to leave, the Mandalorians moved as one with the block.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Malavai tugged the locator beacon out of his pocket, making sure that the signal had not moved. The Mandalorian mercenaries had played their part, bringing Caer's inert form to the governmental palace. There they'd dumped her off the grav sled and hurried back to the Mantis as per their instructions. The Mantis now orbited the planet, hundreds of miles above the planet's surface and out of range of the massive AA guns that littered Corellia's surface like the remnants of some giant's playtime gone awry.

Before the ship had left atmo, though, Quinn'd managed to slip off with a stealth generator tucked in his pocket and his Imperial bearing and uniform left behind. The clothes lent him by the Devaronian named Gault were a surprisingly good fit—and remarkably well-made. He had it on good authority from the cyborg named Mako that the Mandalorian's sniper and resident conman liked the creature comforts. That the clothes gave credibility to his assumed identity as just another Corellian citizen was of great help. And their comfort made Malavai wonder if there wasn't some merit to finally investing in a good set of civilian wear.

Losing the accent had been a little more difficult than he'd remembered. Malavai kept having to remind himself that he wasn't in Imperial space anymore and tried not to speak as much as possible. He thought of wrapping a bandage around his throat, mimicking a throat wound, but had decided against it. Better to just keep his head down and keep moving, he'd decided.

Unfortunately, and he recalled this from his last visit to Corellia with Darth Lok'nar, the presidential palace was located the farthest from the spaceport by tram and by foot. He imagined that the crime problems that had plagued Corellia during the Imperial occupation in the unheld territories wouldn't be any better—possibly worse under Republic rule, in fact. Therefore, the tram was his only option. Following the flood of war refugees aboard one of the tram cars, he nodded politely to the other passengers as he grabbed one of the loops hanging from the ceiling and rode the looping, winding tram. The cramped conditions as well as the speed and movement always combined to remind him of barrel rolls in a troop transport to avoid artillery. But, finally, the Capital Square tram station came into view and Mal took a deep, cleansing breath.

The mass of people crammed into the tram car poured out onto the platform and he followed, attaching himself to different groups as he moved through the station. The Republic army presence was minimal—here it was mostly Cor Sec officers who scanned ident documents. He slipped past the checkpoint, careful not to draw attention with a quickened stride or darting looks. Some aspects of spycraft one never forgot.

Life was coming back to the streets—a sign that the conflict that had devoured Corellia was mostly ended. Huge chunks were still missing from both the roadway and buildings, but people bustled about with purpose. And he had yet to see a blaster or rifle on anyone who wasn't clearly a Cor Sec officer—so the official forces must have also demilitarized the local gangs and rebels that Malavai's Darth had cut such a bloody swath through. All of this was good for Malavai.

Finally he reached the park that faced the presidential palace. When he'd been there before unexploded ordinance had littered the ground and great sheets of duracrete lay in shattered piles. Since then the planet had clearly undergone a revitalization—trash and debris was gone, likely dumped in less privileged areas of Coronet City. Grass and trees grew and even birds fluttered nearby, giving a feeling of normalcy to the area. Finding a bench, he settled himself with a holopad and waited.

To anyone walking past, he appeared to be just another Corellian, catching up on the news of the cosmos. And so he sat, waiting.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Cole Cantarus, hero of the battle for Corellia, stood back, watching. The code word had been delivered, as promised. He was moments away from possessing, body and soul, one of the most beautiful and fearsome women he'd ever seen. Not for the first time he wondered if what he was about to do was sane. Almost as soon as the thought flashed into his mind it was smothered with the rememberance of all he'd lost during the battle for Corellia and that he'd, really, never gotten a reward equal to what he'd sacrificed. He was owed this. He was owed her.

He wanted something of his own, he rationalized as he typed in the code which would thaw the woman encased in carbonite. He stepped back, watching as the grey metallic substance of the carbonite prison melted into a puddle on his floor, its contents spilling onto the floor in a heap of angry woman.

"Who the fuck are you?" Caer spat as she crouched sightlessly in the damp filth of the remnants of the carbonite, her Imperial accent decided absent as she tried to determine her circumstances.

Cole smirked, fingers reaching towards the butt of his blaster. If the code word failed, he still had a definite advantage over a blind pirate, he reminded himself. "Keyword: onomatophobia. Be still."

Caer stiffened. Damn. How in the world had he gotten her keyword, let alone how had anyone known about it, she wondered. Thankfully, she reminded herself even as she held herself still, she had broken her programming. She was just pretending—which meant that she was in control of how far she took this. "Keyword accepted. Thank you," she added, her monotone giving an air of reality to her playacting.

Cole grinned. "Keyword: onomatophobia. You will obey me in all things," he ordered, stepping closer. He didn't want to have to remember the keyword—odd that the word itself defined a fear of certain words and their meanings, he thought. "You are in love with me," he advised, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

Caer swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. So, he wanted to play this particular game. She internally gave herself a shake—she could do this, damn it. She'd seduced men from Nar Shaddaa to Voss—she'd be damned if her moral squishiness or love for another man made her fail on this mission. "I am in love with you," she agreed, her voice soft and her eyes dewy as her hand rose to the face of the man who had purchased her, imagining that she was touching Malavai instead. "My love, why can I not see?" she asked, injecting confusion in her voice.

Cole swallowed. This was a reality. She was really here. He shivered under her warm fingertips, feeling her trace his stubbled chin and jawline. "Call me Cole, my dear. I've rescued you from carbonite. You're sight will return," he promised, gathering her into his arms and carrying her to one of the couches that littered the living quarters. She was surprisingly light, he realized, as he settled them both on the cushions, she cradled in his arms.

She smiled, resting her head on his chest. "Thank you, Cole." Beneath her ear she heard his heard thundering and imagined how much joy she would feel at the end of all this when she shoved a vibroblade through his chest to stop that beating. "I'm so lucky to have such a hero like you taking care of me," she breathed.

Cole shifted with her weight in his lap, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the voluptuous woman on his lap. "No, sweetheart. I'm the lucky one," he countered, pulling her into a kiss.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Caer lifted Cole Cantarus's arm from her waist and slowly slid out of the bed. Grabbing up her robe from the floor, she slipped it on and crept out of the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible. She'd regained her sight sometime during the night, though the edges of objects around her lacked their usual clarity. Thankfully, she didn't need to be able to see to be able to sell her role to Cantarus. She'd worn out the pilot and Republic hero and he now slept soundly, likely dreaming of this charade he'd created.

The room off the bedchamber was like any other living area—couches and low tables sprinkled across the length and breadth giving little seating areas and the illusion of intimacy for those who would be seated there. At the far end of the room stood a desk, its silhouette all the more intimidating backlit by moonlight. She crept across the room, darting glances back at the bedroom.

One advantage to the codeword was that Cole thought he had total mastery of her. It made him sloppy. His holopad wasn't even encrypted or secured. Slicing through the factory installed safeguards was child's play and Caer was almost insulted. A seven year old slicer could have done this, she huffed.

There. She skimmed the communications logs and, using the authentication ident of the pad in her hand, accessed the main archives and security protocols of the provisional government. It took longer to transfer the raw data to her modified cred stick than it had for her to break the coding. Swallowing down the urge to ream him for his lack of operational security, she replaced the datapad and crept back to the bedchamber, though not before she visited the 'fresher. There she sent the transmission towards her ship and her team—it would piggyback on harmless navigational frequencies and only her team would know what they were looking at.

After all, she thought as she slipped back into bed with Cantarus, her "owner" might not care about operational security but Caer certainly did. She wasn't a professional for nothing.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	17. Sincerity

Author's Note: Sorry that it's taken me so long to update—I got distracted with other stories (fixing Tharan and such...sigh), and, well, I got stymied on this one. But I wanted to make sure that you guys knew I had not forgotten you.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Sixteen: Sincerity

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Malavai was back on the bench the next morning, sipping a cup of caffa as he watched the Presidential Palace. For a planet that prided itself on being one of the founding worlds of the Republic he thought they were remarkably ostentatious about their public buildings. Not that the Sith were much better but at least they tended to police themselves. From what he could see of the way Corellia was being run everyone just expected for the former Cor Sec officers to be heroic and honorable. But no one was checking to make sure the noble Corellians were actually meeting expectations.

He half wondered what, if any scandal, would come out if and when it became public knowledge that Cole Cantarus had sold out his planet's shipbuilding and industry concerns to buy what amounted to a sex slave from the Hutts. Then again, Malavai thought as he picked up his datapad and read the stream of data that had been sent by Caer the night before, he might just have to kill the bastard himself. Settling back further with the warm glowing thought of future homicide, he parsed the data. After all, he was good with data. Included among the data was Cole Cantarus's itinerary. He was going to be hosting some Republic heroes who'd helped run the Empire off Corellia. His lips rose in a sardonic smile—how would those heroes react if it became known that their heroic host was participating in the Hutt's sex trade? Then again, he sighed, the Republic were notoriously hypocritical. They spouted the rights of all beings but brothels and sex shops could be found in almost every Republic city. He wasn't sure that they would care if Cantarus had bought himself a pirate for a slave. They might even want to partake, he thought with a shudder.

No, better to just kill him, he thought, his smile returning.

He took another sip of his caffa, blue eyes scanning the building. He had calculated which row of windows marked Cole's rooms—he had practically a whole floor to himself, from what Malavai had been able to determine. The Imperial had managed to ingratiate himself with a rather mousy young woman at the local governance building—a woman who was willing to overlook his rather unusual questions about the new Corellian government as she'd lay gasping on her desktop, her skirt bunched around her hips and his talented mouth wringing orgasm after orgasm from her as a prelude to an evening out. All in a day's work, he reminded himself—at least he'd gotten dinner and a place to sleep out of the arrangement. Though he was certain the girl now thought them betrothed at the minimum. Ah, well, he'd gotten the information he needed from her and she'd thoroughly enjoyed her evening with her 'dark stranger,' as she kept calling him. He'd even found a flower vendor on the street and arranged for her to have a bouquet arrive on her desk with a proper thank you note—his mother had raised him to be a gentleman, after all. Even if he rarely managed to remember or exercise those manners.

He kept perusing the data, flagging names and files that he would come back to later. Several names stood out—and he chuckled. Ardun Kothe…the man was a legend in Intelligence. A true master manipulator in SIS, he was apparently on Corellia to meet with Cantarus. And another agent, a Jonas Balkar, was also on Corellia. He read further and gaped. Darmas…Pollaran? The name…it was familiar…he'd seen it before, he was certain. He swallowed, reading further. So, the two spies were on Corellia to collect an Imperial infiltrator—most likely a Cipher agent like his Caer—one who had been on Coruscant for years prior to his arrest, though how he'd ended up on Corellia was anyone's guess. He looked at the image on the datapad, blue eyes narrowing as he read facial features not easily altered by surgery. The face…it was familiar, somehow. He cast his mind back to his pre-Balmorra days and swallowed a curse. If the man the Republic thought was Darmas Pollaran was who Malavai thought he was, then the Republic had a far more valuable asset in hand than they even knew.

This had just gotten bigger than whatever the Hutts were after—and he started tapping out the message to Caer through his datapad. The gameboard had changed and they were going to have to alter their gameplay accordingly.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Caer's eyes widened. Ardun Kothe was on Corellia? Damnation. She quickly stood away from the table where she'd been perusing the Holonet, the message from Quinn raising fresh fears. There was always a possibility that she and Ardun wouldn't cross paths—after all, how would Cole explain the fact that he had a wanted fugitive as his lover?

That hope was quickly fragged, exploding in fiery bits of shit as she heard a familiar voice accompanying Cole Cantarus down the hallway. She was too far away from the bedroom to duck out of sight so she just had to pray that Ardun wouldn't out her to Cole, blowing her cover to the bowels of Ilum. There wasn't any reason he wouldn't—he was Republic and she Imperial. But she had to hope that he wouldn't.

"Master Kothe, it is an absolute pleasure to have you here," offered Cole as he stepped into the main living area, his grin widening as he spotted Caer. He'd left a rather provocative outfit on the bed for her to wear and, to his delight, she was wearing it. Not that it left much to the imagination—sheer shimmersilk panels of deepest black fell from a ruched, barely there bodice to tumble to the floor—the outline of her shape clear if not as detailed as she might have been if he'd left her nothing to wear. Then again, part of the joy of that particular gown was that it hid while hiding nothing. It had set him back quite a few credits, not that he minded. He would enjoy the sight of his prize wearing it each time he took her. "Ah, let me introduce you to my…" he stumbled—what was he to call her. He'd almost called her what she was—his slave. "My friend."

Ardun Kothe's dark eyes swept over the woman in front of him, his face betraying nothing. "Does your friend have a name?" he asked, his tone cool. He didn't call her what he'd called her so many months before—didn't call her Legate. That would have been cheating.

Cole Cantarus clearly either did not catch the frostiness of Kothe's tone or he didn't care. He tugged Caer onto his lap so that he cradled her to his chest with her head resting against his shoulder. His hands stroked her through the silk, the entire message one of possession. "She's the Red Blade. Isn't she remarkable?"

Kothe sat still, wooden. "She is…remarkable," agreed Ardun, assessing the woman in front of him. Last he'd seen of her, she had taken the Black Codex and they'd parted as, if not friends, then respected adversaries. "How did you…acquire her?"

Cole chuckled. "She's…well, I'm not supposed to talk about it. State secrets, we might say." He lowered his mouth to Caer's ear. "Keyword: onomatophobia."

Ardun's eyes widened as horror spread over his face. No. He watched as Caer's face went carefully blank. It was like watching a replay of his own crime against this woman played out before him—it didn't matter that the mind control had been done to her by the Sith—he'd taken full advantage of it prior to her breaking free of it. Which meant…

"Keyword accepted," she responded, her tone absent any feeling but her eyes…

…She wasn't really being mind-controlled. This was a ruse—an act. Ardun swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. A quick pleasant trip to Corellia to retrieve an Imperial spy had just gone bad in record time. "What are you going to make her do?"

Cole grinned. He once had been a good man. But there was a saying that ultimate power corrupted absolutely and he had total power over the woman on his lap. "Anything I want her to. You look like you could use some…entertainment." He leaned closer to Caer. "Keyword: onomatophobia. Seduce Ardun Kothe."

Caer smiled, turning to face fully the spymaster. "Keyword accepted."

Ardun swallowed as the beautiful Cipher agent rose from Cole's lap and prowled towards him, green eyes glittering dangerously. It took him a moment for him to move, she'd captivated him as a predator does their prey. "Cantarus, while I appreciate you being willing to share, I'm not one for public displays," countered Ardun, rising from the chair he'd been sitting in and backing away slowly. He held his hands out, as if to ward off the sensual woman advancing on him.

Cole shrugged, motioning towards the hallway nearby. His body language and tone were careless but his eyes—Ardun read a malevolence in them that almost made him stutter. "Then pick a room. Trust me, you've never experienced anything like it." Cantarus yawned dramatically. "Besides, it's rude to deny the hospitality of your host. Old Corellian customs and such. Don't worry, Ardun, she doesn't bite unless you ask her to."

Caer ignored Cole as she started to gently tug Ardun towards the hallway, her hips swaying seductively as she led him away from the Corellian. "Oh, Master Ardun," she cooed softly, guiding him into a room and shutting the door behind them both. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

Ardun swallowed, turning to face the woman he'd tried to recruit from Imperial Intelligence so long before as a double agent. He had to get back on a professional footing. "What's going on, Legate?" He crossed his arms over his chest, fixing his best ex-Jedi glare on the voluptuous woman now moving to the bed, the shimmersilk rustling sinfully as she crawled across the bedspread. He ignored the come-hither motion of her fingers, though his body did stir before he stamped it down.

Caer sighed, moving back towards Ardun until she knelt before him on the bed. Her hands hooked into the belt around his hips that held his lightsaber. "Once a Jedi, always a Jedi?" she smirked, fingertips tracing the tooling on the hilt in a subtle mimickry of what she would be doing to a certain part of his anatomy. One hand wandered down from the belt, sliding over the flat planes of his abdomen to the swell of his manhood, cupping him through his trousers. He grunted as she took up a very intimate massage of his nethers, his brown eyes narrowing. "Ardun, play along and I'll share what I know," she promised softly, her hands guiding the leader of the SIS's Mid Rim Operations Group closer to her, her lips moving to his throat and jaw. Her lips were gentle against his ear as his hips started moving reflexively under her touch. "And I promise, you'll be interested in what I have."

Ardun felt his brown eyes fluttering shut as her mouth moved to his, a quiet groan escaping the seasoned agent as Caer finally plundered his mouth. "Why should I help you?" he demanded harshly, breaking the kiss and staring into her eyes. Every ounce of his being was telling him not to trust her, not to help her. She was an Imperial spy, damn it. But there was something in her eyes—a sincerity. And the sureness with which she managed his body was making it hard for him to concentrate. He wavered, much as it had in the face of the wrong he'd done to her when he'd known her as Legate.

Caer shrugged carelessly, one strap of her bodice falling off her shoulder in the process. "Call it paying your debt to me. Atoning for what you did to me." Her hand slid from within his trousers—when had she managed to unfasten all those buttons, he wondered absently—and she took his hand in her own. She guided him onto the bed, her fingers ghosting over the front of the tunic, unfastening it from his lean frame. Her voice was soft, barely able to be heard above their breathing. "Cole will be listening, probably watching. For all I know, he might even be recording this," she admitted, slowly rising so that she once again knelt beside him, though now he lay back on the pillows with a perfect view. She slid the straps of the bodice off her shoulders, sliding the bodice down her waist and past her hips, taking her smallclothes with it. Naked as the day she had graced the world, she stared down at the SIS master spy. "I won't do anything you don't want, Ardun. But I need you to help me and play along."

He knew that what he was about to do might be tantamount to treason. But he remembered—he remembered when she was Legate and had no choice in anything he ordered her to do. He remembered her kindness and forgiveness—and she wasn't forcing him or blackmailing him. She was asking for his help. Part of him that he had thought had died long ago, the part that believed in chivalry and code flared back to life. Ardun nodded slowly, drawing down the woman into his arms. "I'll help you," he promised, his lips capturing hers as if to seal the agreement.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


	18. Truthtelling

Author's Note: Once again, I apologize for the long time it's taken for me to update. I'll just say that at this point it might take more than a few days to post the next chapter—life is getting a little busy and other stories are rearing their ugly and pretty heads to turn my attention. Spoilers for the end of the Smuggler storyline in this chapter. You have been warned. :) Enjoy. BTW, for those who recognize some characters from other stories that I've written, yes, same characters.

Disclaimer: See chapter One. I still own nothing and am making no profits from this story.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Chapter Seventeen: Truthtelling

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Ardun Kothe lay back, gasping, trying to gain his breath back. Years of training at the Temple hadn't prepared him for the calisthenics of sex with an Imperial agent, he thought ruefully. He had to swallow back a laugh at the thought of the Jedi Masters including what he'd just done in the curriculum at the Jedi Temple—it would make for far more interesting times at the Temple, that was certain. Well, if Cantarus was truly recording their activities, he had material fit for some of the raunchiest holovid portals—though fortunately their whispered conversations were quiet enough to not have been picked up by even the strongest microphones.

"I'll give you credit, old man. You have stamina," offered Caer from alongside the Republic spymaster in as close to her normal voice as she could muster.

Ardun chuckled dryly, turning on his side to look at the girl beside him. "What happened?" He motioned to the room, but it was clear he was referring to the whole debauched situation that Cipher Nine found herself in. He caught her hand in his, his dark eyes searching. If she had been his agent, if she had been in SIS, he hoped that he would have kept her safe from this kind of thing. In his heart of hearts, though, he knew he would have thrown her to the wolves just as her own side had.

Caer shrugged and closed her eyes. "Life happened, Ardun," she admitted in a quiet voice. Those green eyes that he remembered fluttered open, meeting his own gaze. There was certainty—purpose in those emerald depths. "Ardun, we can't change the past. We make our way as best we can through the muddle and hope that in the end the scales balance more for the side of good than evil." She squeezed his hand in hers, a hopeful smile on her lips.

Ardun touched her cheek. She was young enough to be his daughter. He'd never found out her true age or even her real name—all he would ever know her as is what she would let him know. Such was the life and reality of a smile. "I can help you stop this, Caer." He wasn't sure if he was referring to the situation with Cantarus or if he was also talking about the spy game they were both embroiled in. Maybe it was both.

Caer nodded gently, turning into his touch. Nestled against him, anyone who might be watching them would think they were enjoying a moment of postcoital bliss. In truth, even with all they had done to each other in the names of their respective spy organizations, there was a level of trust between them. "Help me balance the scales, Ardun," she whispered before she caught his lips in a soft kiss.

Ardun swallowed. This was an illusion, he knew. She was maintaining a cover—both for her own sake as well as his. If Cantarus knew that his mind-controlled strumpet wasn't being controlled by his strings, things could get even more dangerous for all involved. "Yes, Caer. Tell me what I can do," he asked, pulling her closer to himself. He wouldn't pretend that he wasn't attracted to this curvaceous spy—that part of him was enjoying the role she'd cast him into. That some little bit of him believed that he could bring her over to the side of the Republic if he could reach her, make her understand and see what good she was capable of.

Caer smiled sweetly at him, using her body to chip away at the faithfulness to the Republic that he held so dear. As he sank into her, called her name, shuddered atop her, she knew that he was falling a little more in love with her. She soothed him with gentle words and touches, promises that they both knew each had no intention of keeping. When she was certain that she had him, that he wouldn't say no, she sprang the trap.

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

Jonas Balker, most recently of Nar Shaddaa, leaned back against the gleaming pillar of the governance center. Coronet City certainly lived up to the hype, he thought with a grin as he took a breath of clean air. He felt ten years younger just being off the Hutt's pleasure moon. And he even had an assignment—one directly from Ardun Kothe, a legend in the SIS. He was practically giddy with excitement at the idea of working with his idol. He'd grown up hearing the name Ardun Kothe—a Jedi Knight who'd left the order and fought to protect the Republic. When he'd turned spymaster, Kothe had become the secret agent that every boy dreamed of one day being.

And now, here he was on Corellia. He stopped himself from pinching himself but just barely. Kothe had sent him coordinates to the holding and containment facility where their prisoner was being held. Darmas Pollaran—or whatever his real name was. Balker had been briefed on the way that Pollaran had duped a senator on behalf of the Void Wolf and how Pollaran had finally been defeated by a smuggler turned privateer. It was an impressive story—one that someday might be declassified enough to end up in some kid's school vids. But he didn't think so. Some stories weren't fit for retelling except over bottles of Corellian whiskey by old spies and soldiers. And even then, it would be a heavily redacted version or so bloated with lies as to never be recognizable.

The woman sauntering towards him, her face the one from the datafiles he'd perused en route—she would be the Smuggler in question. Had to be. No normal woman exuded that much bravado and raw sensuality just walking across a plaza. He grinned. This job got better by the minute.

"Jonas Balker," he offered to the woman, watching a grin curl over her rosy lips in answer. Oh, yeah, he loved his job. Wasn't every day that he got to meet a genuine hero.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Balker. Name's Samarra. You can call me Sam, if you like. It's nice to meet you," she purred. Her voice—he shifted slightly, hopefully without her seeing, as part of his anatomy instantly hardened. "I understand that you're moving Darmas Pollaran?"

Balkar nodded, leading Sam off the main promenade and into the office he'd appropriated. Well, no one was using it and it had a relatively comfy couch that he'd been sleeping on for a few nights since he got to Corellia. "And I heard that you caught him," he offered, closing the door behind them. She walked a little further into the office and he got a better look at her. Pieces of her dossier started to fit as he watched her get the lay of the land.

Ex-Republic pilot. Got out of the service after a hazy incident involving a Hutt dancer and some members of her unit—honorably discharged with all hints of a cover-up firmly in place. Won her ship in a Sabaac game—named it the 'Chastened Virtue.' Other than a few other bits and pieces, and a few citations for indecent exposure and public lewdness, she'd led a pretty blasé life.

"So, you asked to see me?" he asked.

Sam turned, fixing him with a hard stare. Missing was the flirtation and flightiness she showed in the courtyard. Instead, this was a woman determined to get answers, one way or another. "You got that right, Balker. What's gonna happen to Darmas?"

First name basis. Interesting. "What's your stake, Captain?" he watched her, wondering what was her game plan. He'd noticed that she'd come alone to meet him. From what he'd heard about her from Agent Fauler on Tatooine, the Captain didn't go anywhere without her living shadow, Corso Riggs. So, where was he in all this.

Sam took a breath, staring at her feet for a moment. "I loved him. A lot. Killed a part of me to take him in." She looked up, blinking back fierce tears. He got the feeling she rarely if ever cried. "But I did it. For the Republic. And now I want to know what's going to happen to him. I've seen Belsavis, Balker. I've seen Shadow Town on Nar Shaddaa too. What's going to happen to Darmas?"

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_

"Cantarus needs to be stopped. And I can help you do that, Ardun, but I want something in return."

Ardun sighed. There it was—the swap. There was always a price when agents from opposite sides worked together. To be fair, to find out about Isotope-5 and also find out about Cantarus's corruption was such a boon that he would be able to justify almost any cost she requested. "What's the cost?"

"You have a spy. Darmas Pollaran. I want him."

Kothe sat up, legs swinging over the side of the bed as he took a deep breath. He should have known. Pollaran—or whatever his name was—was still being held on planet until a suitable holding facility could be determined for the deep cover Imperial. "I should have known."

Caer sat up, the blankets pooling around her waist as she faced the older man. "Ardun, it's a fair trade."

Kothe frowned, pulling on his shirt as he sat there. "Why? What is he to you?" His dark eyes searched the agent's face, trying to understand why she was asking for one spy in trade for the information she'd shared. Pollaran had been a creature of the Void Wolf, that megalomaniacal Imperial monster who'd tried to destroy the Republic with his pirate fleet. With the Void Wolf dead, Pollaran was without use—purpose, even. He was done. "Why is he so important?"

Caer grabbed his hand, halting his progress in redressing himself. "Please, Ardun. For me."

"But why?"

Caer swallowed. "It doesn't matter why, Ardun. What matters is that if you don't agree, you'll never be able to stop the Hutts."

Kothe grimaced. She was right, he knew. The Imperials were farther ahead on this than the Republic was-they weren't bound by the same strictures of rules and governance that had kept him from stopping them in the past. "Deal."

_***8*8*8*8*8*8***_


End file.
